


The Wolf and the Mountain

by xiria14



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ASoIaF Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-26 04:52:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 50,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1675373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xiria14/pseuds/xiria14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> When King Robert came to Winterfell, The Hound was not the only Clegane to come. The Mountain came too. And as the Mountain came, so did the questions and the wondering.</i><br/>Or a tale of Jon’s curiosity being fulfilled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One: The First Taste of the Forbidden

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this Prompt:  
> Gregor/Jon, consensual  
> Can anyone write this pairing without non-con? I'm curious. (Can any Gregor pairing be written without non-con? I'm curious about that too, but this is the pairing I'd most want to read.)
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writting it!

“I’ve heard his cock is so big that whores make him pay its weight in gold, seeing as it stretches their cunts so wide that it ruins them for other men after he’s finished.”

Jon could only blush as he hears again another lewd jape coming from the infamous Ward of Winterfell. And yet again, the rude joke is about the Mountain and his potential endowment. Since Gregor Clegane has arrived to Winterfell with King Robert, all questions and comments have revolved around the gigantesque man. Even the arrival of the Imp, Tyrion Lannister, was nearly met with silence and vague curiosity as every eye turned toward the biggest man. Who seems unfazed in front of all the attention, certainly used by now at being the center of interest. 

Mothers hide their children from sight with fear of the warrior who is renowned for having killed the last Targaryen children. Serving girls and wench flinch and make themselves small and as unnoticeable as mice around him. And men look with eyes filled with curiosity, wonder and, for some, admiration. And all along, the Mountain looks smug and unimpressed as he walks straight ahead, his heavy, powerful stride making the ground shake under him. The huge man is now sitting at the high table, close to the end of the long, richly covered table while Jon looks at him from the end of the hall, sitting at a lowly table with the lowliest lords. And Theon and Robb, who have come sit with Jon a while ago to talk with him while all the eyes are directed away from them. Of course, Lady Catelyn has noticed, but could not do anything more than glare at them with disapprobation for fear of attiring unwanted attention on her heir misbehaving with Theon Greyjoy and the despised Bastard of Winterfell.

So for a while now, Jon has been made to hear all kind of vulgar jokes about the Mountain’s massiveness, and strength, and of course, huge endowment. Theon is now well in his cup, prating rudely and japing with fake expertise, while Robb is tipsy and giggling like a child, and Jon blushes drunkenly at hearing about the Mountain’s huge cock. Only, it is not just from embarrassment. It is from something else entirely, burning deep in his belly, making him feel as if wine is transforming itself into lava in his veins. 

As Theon says another jape and Robb laughs loudly, Jon looks at the high table, at the hugest figure there, and feels dread constrict his chest when he notices the way The Mountain looks in their direction. Theon and Robb must have noticed, seeing at how fast they quiet themselves and look down in shame. But Jon could not make himself lower his eyes. They are riveted on the darker ones of the gigantic man, deep in trance as he feels his breath being knocked out from his lungs as if the man has punched him in the chest. For one morbid moment, all he can think about is how small and weak a man looks beside the Mountain. How it would feel to be crushed under such an enormous, strong body. How impressive it must be to feel the Mountain’s gigantic cock tear you open and pound hard into you. 

Jon’s curiosity turns into something else entirely, something he feels ashamed of, yet cannot deny any more than he could deny the cold outside. And the Mountain sees it, seeing as his smug smile turns into something hungry and predatory, something so strong and manly that Jon feels himself blush like a shy maiden, and he lowers his eyes on his plate, still full of food he does not have the stomach to finish anymore. 

He forces himself not to look up as he empties his cup of wine in one go and listens with close to no attention to the changed discussion about armors Robb and Theon are now having. His head feels heavy from the alcohol when way later he looks up and notices that the Mountain is gone, just as are the King, the Queen and most people. He sighs in relief as he realises he won’t have to endure one of the Mountain’s weird stare anymore before going to bed. Robb and Theon barely acknowledge his departure when he shakily stands and walks slowly out of the hall. 

His fuzzy mind wonders at the quietness of the hall, the darkness outside indicating that it is way passed the usual bedtime. No wonder it is so quiet and lonely. Slowly he makes his way to his rooms, all the way thinking about how he could have some fun with Big Jon, the bigger of his two phallic shaped toys. 

The only time he has went to a whorehouse with Theon and Robb has been to secretly inform himself about their toys, and purchase some under the knowing smile of Ros, the most professional whore of the house. She even provided him with some quite useful knowledge and advices about how to enjoy the toys to its fullest. Of course, Robb and Theon were not aware of Jon’s true purpose at coming with them, and took for granted that he lost his virginity with the well skilled red hair whore. He indeed lost his virginity. More than a fortnight ago. With Will, a freckled stable boy with a crook smile, freckles and a nice and strong body. 

The young man, who must be 3 or 4 years older, had noticed his blushes around the palfreys and stable boys, and had been glad to offer a hand, or more, if Jon wanted. Will showed Jon some amazing things about his body he had no idea of before. Such as tips about how to handle himself better, or about oil or lubricant making most rubbing way more enjoyable. Or about the pleasure he could feel from the stretch of his ass. That his most pleasurable spot was hidden in there, the stimulation of which could give him orgasm stronger than he ever thought possible. He had enjoyed the company of the older boy for a few improvised encounters. But, as always, the bane of Jon’s existence, lady Catelyn, had to put an end to his enjoyment. A disdainful look at him and Will while they were whispering in each other ears in a conspiratorial way had made them part away, and for fear of punishment, had forced them to end their small affair. Of course, when his friends offered him a drink and toasted him about his loss of virginity, he did not mention anything about his time with Will, and lack of with Ros. 

It felt weird when he discovered that he is not as attracted to girls as Robb and Theon are. He has always felt odd, kind of like he does not belong with the fairer gender. It must have something to do with his mother, or lack of. Women just seem alien to him, most of all when he thinks about their body, and his, and what results could come from that equation. But men are something else entirely. He feels admiration and understanding for the male body. He feels desire for it, and lusts more about the men around him than the girls. The bigger the body, the greater his desire is, as he has found out with time.

His thoughts come back to his toys, Little Jon and Big Jon, silly names he has given them because of their size difference. Little Jon is made in polish wood, of a size slightly smaller than an average size for a man, as Ros informed him. It is more for foreplay, or for when he has little time to enjoy himself and wants to be brought off rapidly while still enjoying anal sex and its pleasure. Big Jon is for when he has more time for himself, and wants to feel the stretch in his backside for hours the next day. It is bigger than most cock, of leather covered wood with a flared base so that it would not get caught in his ring and risk being aspired into his body, creating a quite awkward scene. Drunkenly, he thinks at how hard he will rut with Big Jon while fantasying about a much bigger cock stretching him.

He is interrupted in his musing when he turns around a corner and is forcefully dragged into a shady alcove, so strongly manhandled and pressed against such a huge, strong body that Jon nearly goes wild with conflicting emotions. Outrage, anger and fear course through him, as well as lust, to his greatest shame. A hand covers his mouth, so big that it also covers most of his face in doing so, thus muffling all his cries, while a strong harm presses him so tightly against the strong body that his struggles against it are made as futile as a small child ones. It takes Jon’s fuzzy mind some wild seconds to realize that such a huge, strong body can belong to only one man, and he feels his body go lax against it as exhilaration makes his heart beat way faster than usual in his chest. The towering man, feeling that his prey has stopped resisting, chuckles quietly in Jon’s back, his chest vibrating strongly against his smaller frame. 

“I’ve seen the way you looked at me, lad. The way you blush like a maiden before her man when come the time for the Bedding. You want to see for yourself how big I really am down there, isn’t it? You want to know how it feels to be opened on my cock, the hugest in all Westeros.” 

The smug whispers, when uttered in Jon’s ear, feel so loud that he fears for one moment that a guard or a passing maid would hear exactly what the giant man is saying, as it makes his face blush warmly and his body shudder with excitation. Yes he wants it so much. But he doesn’t dare acknowledge it in front if the other man. 

The Mountain chuckles again behind his back, and Jon enjoys the way his body rocks with the vibrating chest, totally abandoned in the impossibly strong embrace. Some part of him feels scared of such a frightening man restraining him and threatening him of fucking him, yet a bigger one, much to his shame, yearns for it as much as he would water after days of thirsting.

Feeling that Jon is totally at his mercy, unresisting and totally complying, the Mountain first removes the hand over Jon’s mouth and starts cuddling his cheek and his hairs with it, then with his other hand he starts caressing his stomach, his belly and to Jon’s pleasure, his groin. It isn’t long before Jon is hard and leaking, writhing in pleasure and desire against the gigantic man, gasping for breath and whimpering as quietly as he could under the forceful caresses and groping.

The Mountain hums approvingly over him. “You’re such a wanton thing, boy. I’m sure you will come as I pound into you, as I stretch your ass so open that you won’t be able to walk for a week. Be a good boy, and I’ll give you the greatest treat ever, one you won’t forget” 

Jon moans and his body, against his own will, presses back against the Mountain, his backside near humping on the thick mass of muscles there. The hand which was caressing his groin suddenly grasped his tensed genitals and holds it so firmly than Jon comes on the spot, biting his lips to the blood to muffle his screams of ecstasy. He comes so hard that his legs give out under him, and he would have crashed on the floor if not for the Mountain catching him and holding Jon against him like he would a rag doll. He barely waits long enough for Jon to catch his breath before he orders him with a rough, hungry voice to follow him. Jon needs to hold onto the strong harm to move forward, but he complies meekly, not wanting to anger the intimidating man. His blood is still fizzy from alcohol, his release as well as the deepest lust at the thought of being fucked properly and thoroughly by the gigantic man.  
Fortunately, the Mountain’s rooms are not situated too far from them. They only have to walk to the end of the hall, turn left then right, and it is there, at the end of the hall. Seeing as the man is so big, he has been given a bigger room near the deserted tower. It has once been a storage for extra tables and chairs, but has been reconverted into a spacious room were two beds have been put together by their sides to accommodate the 8 feet tall man. Draperies and vases have been composed so that the room would seem comfortable enough that sir Gregor would not feel insulted at such an arrangement. Lady Catelyn has made sure of the Mountain’s great comfort, and Jon nearly feels smug at the idea that he will take advantage of it. And of the fact that they have this part of the castle totally for themselves.

The Mountain opens the door and pushes Jon toward the bed, then closes the door and latches it with a loud CLANG. Jon barely has enough time to catch himself on the big bed with his arms so as to not land on it face first, that the Mountain is on him and is pushing Jon head first on the mattress, pulling savagely at his clothes. Not wanting to have to explain why his finest clothes are destroyed beyond repair, Jon hurriedly opens his laces and helps the Mountain get him undressed. It’s only when he is totally bare, his clothes near safe and away, that he starts blushing, suddenly feeling self-conscious about being at the taller man’s mercy. It is nearly shaming to feel the big, imposing body against his own, small and way weaker one.

“Damn it, boy. You’re prettier than a maiden.” 

The insulting praise from the Mountain is soon followed by him pushing a blushing Jon roughly on the bed, positioning him on all four and spreading his legs wide apart. Jon lets himself being manhandled, totally pliant under the giant man and his questing hands. One hand roams on his back and seizes him by the hairs, pushing his head hard against the mattress, thus forcing him to lower the top of his body against it and arch his back to expose his rear. Jon feels trepidation and lust course through him. He will soon be impaled by the hugest cock possible. It would hurt, most certainly, but he feels excited as hells at the notion of being opened so obscenely. 

He tries to turn his head and peer at the Mountain, but the man seizes his head again, more painfully this time, and presses it back the way it was. Jon gasps and hisses in pain, but the brute behind him shushes him. 

“Don’t move, young wolf. Stay put like a good bitch or you’ll see what I do to bad dogs.” 

Jon obeys the gruff order, and meekly remains immobile and pliant under the Mountains guiding hands. One of them is now pushing against his spine to make his back arch more lewdly, while the other is spreading the cooling mess of come on his stomach and, gathering it. When said hand is offered to Jon’s mouth, he obediently licks it, with earnest even, already used to the salty-bitter taste of his own juices after having tested it to satisfy his curiosity. Ser Clegane groans in pleasure at the display of lecherous obedience, and Jon feels smugness fill his chest at the idea of exciting such an impressive man.  
“I knew you’d turn out to be such a great slut, bastard. It’s in your blood after all.”

Jon closes his eyes and stops licking as this comment particularly hurt, but the Mountain doesn’t seem to notice and only retrieves his moist hand from under Jon’s mouth. A small part of him nearly wants to stop all this so that he could go lick his wounds in the privacy of his own rooms, but it is swallowed down when he feels huge hands on his buttocks. He opens his eyes wide in lust and surprise when the limbs squeezes his tender flesh mercilessly and spread the globes apart, thus exposing his small opening further to the other man’s eyes. Then he mewls obscenely like a cat in heat and wriggles his hips as he feels burning desire pool in his gut. He is there for that after all, for the pleasure of having this small hole stretched wide open. This time, the Mountain laughs with salacious mirth at such a display of wantonness, while Jon can only blush in shame for his lewd reaction.

Not long after, fingers as thick as sausages probes at his entrance, playing with the tiny, puckered ring of muscles by stretching it, then squeezing it shut, before massaging it with insistence and so on. Yet they never breach his entrance, they just toy with it. The moment doesn’t last long, but Jon is already consumed with the most intense lust as decadent pleasure course through him, making him feel all needy and desperate as the worst bitch in heat.

Jon keens, before a last coherent thought pops in his lusty mind. He exhales small breaths to help himself get through it, gathering all his nerves to ask the huge man: 

“Sir Gregor, maybe you should use some oil.” 

The man grumps noncommittally at that, and Jon feels at a lost about what to feel or to say. But soon, the man’s hands leave Jon’s ass, and he finds himself wondering if he has maybe said or done something wrong. He is about to muster the courage of turning his head again to look at the beasty man, but is interrupted in it when a package is thrown in front of him, near his head. He peers at it, then feels dread freeze his whole body as he recognizes a familiar cloth of black silk, embroidered with white and red interlaces. It is a tunic his father has gifted Jon for his thirteenth Name day, and that Jon has ever since cherished as one of his greatest keepsake. Since it is now too small for his seventeen years old body, Jon has been using it to keep some other precious possessions of his. Little Jon and Big Jon for instance.  
Jon can nearly see the shape of his phallic toys through the many folds hiding them from view. This time he braves the Mountain’s order and turns his head to peer at the bigger man, speechless and lost between confusion, dread, outrage and concern. What is the meaning of this? 

The gigantic man looks smug as he leans against one of the bed posts, huge arms crossed over his chest. 

“Nice toys you have, boy! When I noticed the way you were looking at me, I took the liberty of visiting your room to find more about you. What a nice surprise I had when I checked under your pillows and found this. An advice for the future, boy, hide what you don’t want anybody to see in a less obvious place.” 

Jon still does not understand. So the Mountain searched his room? What for? And why is he suddenly handing Jon his shaming toys?  
As if to answer his questions, Gregor Clegane takes something else from the pocket of his luxury coat, and tosses it at Jon, who is still prostrated in his wanton position, but who cannot feel it in himself to be bothered by it so much at a lost he feels. It all becomes clearer when he turns his head toward the new object near his head, and swallows when he notices it is a big flask of clear, oily liquid. So, at least, the big man has indulged him and been kind enough to provide lubricant for their coupling. But what does he want Jon to do now, bring himself off with his toys? He looks back at the other man, who seems more and more irritated by the length of time it takes Jon to understand what he is to do next.  
“I want you to fuck yourself for me, wolf. Show me what you do to your small ass when nobody else his looking. Show me how much you like to spear yourself on your toys, how starved for cock you are under your good boy’s facade.”  
Jon bites his lips harder at that order, his cheeks burning from the blood rushing there as he slowly unfolds the luxury clothe to reveal his precious, shaming toys. His cock hardens anew and his mouth waters at the sight of the companions of so many enjoyable nights. His hand shake with a mix of trepidation and lust as it seizes the smaller one of the toys, Little Jon. He cannot hold on a moan of excitation as his hand closes around the polished wood, and all traces of inhibition, shyness and propriety leave his body as lust invades him. 

As if possessed, his other hand uncorks the vial of oil and spreads some of it on his fingers, wasting no time to rub at his sensitive folds and breach the twitching muscle. He nearly forgets he has an audience as he inserts first a finger, then two, curving them to hit just the right spot, the one which makes him whine like a lecherous whore each time he nudges it. It is a blessed relief when he inserts Little Jon after having rubbed a generous dab of oil on its head. In no time he is rocking against the wooden cock, inserting it further and further, fucking himself in hard, fast motions while craving to be fucked like a lusty bitch.

“Enough teasing, young wolf. Get to the main treat.” 

The gruff voice of the Mountain says in his back. Jon turns his head slightly to look at him, and stifles a groan at the sight of the imposing man looking at him with hunger in his eyes, rubbing himself through his breeches. And by the size of the bulge there, Jon is in for an interesting night. 

He wastes no time replacing Little Jon with his big brother, Big Jon. This one is more of a stretch, requiring even more lube and patient insistence as it slowly stretches Jon’s opening and fills him in a mix of pain and pleasure. Just as he has done with the smaller toy, Jon impales himself on the toy cock and tries to fuck himself with earnest. But the position is not really accommodating, and his wrist is starting to get painful from cramp there. Yet he keeps on, wriggling his ass and arching his back to get a better grip and trusting with his hips against the big cock toy. Even through the discomfort in his arm, pleasure builds in Jon and the stretch is becoming totally exquisite. Each times he manages to angle the fake phallus and nudge at his inner nub of pleasure makes him moan and whine in a way to make jealous the most lustful whore. If he was alone in his room, now would be the moment where he would start to get undone and rush to reach his climax. Although his hard, leaking cock hang untouched under him, he can feel his orgasm raising in him, his balls pressing closer to his body and the pressure in his loins increasing exponentially. 

Jon whines in despair when he is stopped in his track by huge hands, one grasping his right hip firmly, so small and frail in comparison to the big, thick appendage, while the other hand grabs the wrist of the hand holding the toy, pulling it back so fast and brutally that a loud, obscene wet PLOP is emitted from his distended hole when its filler goes out. 

He is panting loudly, small plaintive whines escaping his mouth and wriggling his ass against the firm hold of the gigantic hands, yet Jon feels glad that the Mountain has stopped him from releasing himself for the second time this night. He didn’t want to let this evening go to waste before he has felt the most gigantic cock spread him open. 

”Fucking cunt in heat. I’ll fill you up so nice that you’ll go mad with pleasure, bitch. I swear you’ll never be able to enjoy other cocks when you get a taste of mine in your ass.” 

The Mountain groans in a deep, rough voice and all Jon can answer him with is an even louder moan of desire, arching his back even more like the most desperate cat in heat. In that moment he feels totally submitted and at the mercy of the monstrously huge, dominating man. All his mind can think about is a never-ending litany of Yes, fill me up, tear me open, break me, Yes, YES, PLEASE FILL ME UP WITH YOUR HUGE COCK!  
Just then, Jon turns his head to look behind him and peer at the Mountain, and he sees him totally undressed for the first time. By the gods, all these muscles! Jon feels drool gather at the tip of his lips so hungry he feels to touch them, to feel the amazing strength of them under his more delicate fingers. 

Then his eyes get lower and follow the trail of dark hair leading to the big bush at his groin, and …GREAT GODS, WHAT IS THAT? Is THIS even human?

Jon totally expected the Mountain’s manhood to be bigger than normal. Hell, he wanted and still wishes it to be bigger than any other man’s penis. But that thing is actually totally out of any range. He has seen enough manhood, flaccid or erected, while bathing in the hot springs to know the difference. That THING between the Mountains thighs has nothing to do with any of these. It makes them all seem small and childlike. Hell, it is at least as long as Jon’s forearm and fist combined, and at least as thick as his mid-arm. Even well prepared, there is no way that huge monster cock could fit into his small rear.  
Jon panics and if it was not for the firm, crushing hold the Mountain has on his hips, he would crawl away from the huge appendage. But as it is, all he can do is squirm and grasp the sheets so tightly that his knuckles turn white. 

“Easy, young Wolf. you wanted it, you’ll get it! Now stop moving and hand me the oil.” 

Jon resolutely breathes out through his nose while he unclenches one of his hands from the furs to shakily extend it toward the flagon of oil. The Mountain is right. He has come for this fuck, and he is going to have it, and bear through it, no matter how painful it might get. Besides, even if a big part of him is still scared of the monstrously big cock, another part of him reveals in the fact that by the end of the night, he will know what it feels like to be fucked by a giant. He will have the personal satisfaction, the thrill, of having felt such a great length in him, the greatest length in all Westeros. 

With that thought in head, Jon docilely hands over the flagon of oil to the Mountain, who opens it with one hand and nearly empties the whole content of the flagon on his cock while still holding Jon at the hip with his other hand. Jon looks over as he slicks up his huge manhood, admiring the length and salivating at the girth of it. He slumps back against the bed when he feels the oily hands spread his cheeks and the head of the enormous manhood press against his hole. He takes big, soothing breath in, then out, then in again and so on to calm down and relax all his muscles, particularly the ones there. He is still hard, which will make things easier. The pressure increases dramatically against Jon’s rim. 

“I’m going to impale you on my cock, boy. And you’re going to take it and enjoy it like a whore starved for it.” 

 

With that promise, the Mountain pushes even harder against Jon’s prepared hole, insisting and insisting and pressing against it. Jon opens his mouth in a silent scream at such a searing pain in his backside, not believing that so much agony could come from a so small place. Tears flow freely on his cheeks and he find himself unable to breath as, against his will, his body clenches painfully against the intrusion. He pushes against it, forcing his muscles to open his hole to let the monster cock in. 

With both their efforts combined, the head finally breaches him in such a painful way that Jon cries and would have howled out loud enough to wake the whole castle up if it wasn’t for the Mountain suddenly filling up his mouth with something hard and huge, nearly choking him with it. It takes some time for Jon to realise through his haze of pain that it is none other than Big Jon filling up his mouth, his teeth closing on the hard leather in a painful clench. With small, shallow thrusts, the Mountain pushes his cock further and further in Jon’s rear, his cock so huge that it felt as if Jon is being impaled on a burning hot iron, split in two in the most torturous way. Hell, it’s like being deflowered all over again, but with an enormous poker instead of a cock.

Jon screams around the big toy in his mouth through all the impaling, face wet and snotty while his hands clench painfully against the furs and his whole body shakes from the agony and the supressed effort of trying to escape his torment. He prays to the Seven gods, the old as well as the new, for his torment to end soon. Certainly this huge cock would soon be all in him, it’s not meters long! Even though it feels like it. 

After what seems like hours, throat burning and raw from his screaming, Jon feels a huge hand settle on his head, stroking his hairs and rubbing at his scalp in a soothing way. Another hand rubbs gently against his stomach and his abdomen, eliciting small fluttering sensation of pleasure in his wrecked body. Two things hit him at once then: the Mountain is talking to him like he would a well deserving dog, praising him in soothing voice with sweet nothings. Is he actually saying things like good wolf and sweet pet? That beast of a man? 

The second realisation which hits him, and it is a wonder he has not realised it right away, is that he can feel flesh against his tender rear. Warm, hard muscly flesh. Which can mean only one thing. The Mountain is now totally in him. His muscles are still clenching around the monstrous cock in the most painful way, his walls burning like hell around it. But Jon has taken it whole in him. He cannot refrain himself from extending a shaky end toward the place where he is totally joined to the gigantic man, and moans in thrill and pride when his fingers confirms what his fuzzy mind struggles to believing.

The Mountain chuckles smugly at that curious gesture and caresses Jon’s smaller cock, which is now soft because of the intense pain. He seizes his groin and cups both cock and balls in a thigh embrace, and Jon feels blood pooling in his cock and make it harden. To Jon’s amazement, pleasure and warmth are starting to spread into his whole body, starting in his agonized backside and extending through his guts in small waves. As his body starts to trade pain with pleasure, the Mountain, sensing the change in his lover, starts to move back and forth in increasingly long thrusts. Jon’s stretched hole throbs in agony at the movements, and discomfort is winning back over pleasure. Jon can’t abide that. He wants to enjoy himself. He wants to feel what it is like to orgasm around that cock. He pushes back on it, matching his thrusts with the Mountain’s, trying so hard to wriggle his ass in the best angles to grant him pleasure. But to no avail.

So he grasps Big Jon by the end and pulls the toy out of his mouth, taking no care of the great mess of drool which drips on his chin at that extraction. 

“Turn me over! Please, sir Gregor, turn me over!” 

He begs in a rasp, throat sore from his muffled cries. The Mountain freeze over his back at these words, his motions stopped mid track. 

“Why, Wolf? So that you can look me in the eyes like a dove in love? You think I’ll kiss you as if you were my wife?” 

He said in a deep, mocking voice before shoving his dick harshly to the hilt. Jon cringes painfully at that, his rim still so sore from the intense stretch. 

“Please, sir Gregor. It’s just that I enjoy taking it up the ass better when I’m on by back. Please, allow me to turn over.” 

Jon barely finishes his plea that the dominating, gigantic man pulls off entirely from Jon’s ass, the sudden enormous void making him whine in despair. He has no time to complain that in swift, brutal motions, so fast that Jon barely registers them, the Mountain grasps Jon by the hips, turns him on his back, places a pillow under his hips, spreads his legs as far as they could go and puts them around his waist, then impales Jon again while he is supporting himself on his forearms to fuck Jon in earnest. Jon moans in both pain and pleasure as he is breached again, his eyes rolling at the top of his eyes while he bit his bottom lip to stifle a moan.

There is still pain throbbing in his backside, his rim still stretched painfully near the tearing point. But in that position, well spread under the Mountain’s pulsing hips, he feels totally open and the penetration goes easier. Besides, the monstrous cock is now rubbing against his most sensitive nub at every stroke, sending great wave of pleasure all through Jon’s body, making his vision go blurry and his heart race like hell in his chest. And there is something so thrilling at the intimacy of feeling the Mountain’s whole body over him, his thrusting hips between his legs, his hairy belly against Jon’s tensed groin, rubbing at him with every thrust. His arms all round him while his collar bone is mere inches from Jon’ eyes. At that moment he feels owned like never before, so pliant and submitted under the imposing, so strong beasty man all over and in him. His mind too overcome by lust to think clearly, Jon impulsively wraps his arms around the wide shoulders of the Mountain, revealing into their strength and their girth while he pushes back with his hips almost as harshly as Gregor Clegane thrusts in him, their hips meeting in loud slaps of flesh. 

Despite his mockery at Jon’s request, the Mountain seems to enjoy himself more now that Jon is clinging to him, groaning and panting so loudly that it feels as if an earthquake is overcoming them. And all along Jon mewls, and pants breathlessly or cries out and moans when his soft spot is stroked, or a powerful thrust shakes his whole frame. Fire course through Jon’s veins as his whole body is overcome by pleasure. 

The Mountain’s cock starts trusting more wildly, in a most bestial way which announces that his release is close, and Jon feels inflamed by the thought of the man’s huge cock exploding in him. The giant man roars like the most ferocious beast as his body tenses and his so big cock pulses inside Jon, splashing his so sensitive walls with great spurts of warmth. It becomes too much for Jon, whose body suddenly tenses and clenches around the beast’s huge body. He yelps as the most intense pleasure he has ever felt explodes through his whole body and his vision goes black.  
* * *

Jon comes back to himself as he feels something heavy and soft fall on his shoulder. It takes his fuzzy mind quite a while to gather that he is now lying on his side, Gregor Clegane having managed by some confusing gymnastic to turn over an unconscious Jon and spoon him while his flaccid cock is still trapped inside his sore entrance. 

The Mountain has woken up Jon when he covered both their body with the bedding, entrapping their joined body in a cocoon of warmth. For quite a while Jon lays in perfect bliss against the man’s powerful, warm chest, his whole body still throbbing with fluttering, strong waves of pleasure. Then the Mountain wraps his harm around Jon and presses himself more fully against him, his gigantic hand resting on Jon’s sensitive belly. That’s when Jon realises that his gut feel full, his walls distended not just by the cock, which flaccidity makes it feel like he is filled by an average man’s erection, but also with an impressing quantity of warm liquid. Did the man really fill him to the brim with his seeds? 

As if he has talked aloud, the Mountain answers him with a smug voice, his hand tenderly cradling his full abdomen in a gesture similar to a man pressing his hand against his pregnant wife’s full belly. 

“Yep, little Wolf. You’re full with my seeds. Didn’t expected that? With a big cock like Titan, there could only be big balls!” 

Then the gigantic man chuckles, the vibration of his chest making Jon shake with it. Jon is confused. 

“Titan?” 

He asks the giant man, he’s mind still hazy from the intense bliss caused by his mind-blowing orgasm, as well as the shock of finding himself filled to the brim by a man’s warm fluids.

“The name of my cock. Surely such a great piece of manhood deserves a great name, don’t you think? And you’ll keep it warm all night, plugging you so that my seeds stay warm in you.” 

The Mountain assures him smugly. A huge part of him felt an indecent thrill at being filled in such a way with come, his hole plugged by the big, flaccid manhood. All he wants is to close his eyes and reveal in the bliss of being the Mountain’s cock warmer. But a voice in his mind reminds him that questions will be asked if he is not found in his bed come morning, or if a servant finds him there in such an equivoque position of buggery. 

“Sir Gregor, it wouldn’t do for us to be found in such a compromising position.”

He finally says after having gathered his courage. His weak suggestion is met by yet another chuckle from the Mountain, who just presses himself closer to Jon.

“I don’t give a fuck about any servant, Lord Stark, the Queen or even the King finding us like this. Now that I found a nice whore such as you are, I keep it!” 

Jon gasps in surprise and cranes his neck to look in the eyes of the giant man. Who looks at him with a satisfied smile and something akin to hunger, or possessiveness in the eyes. It fills his chest with something warm, warmer even than the fluids filling his gut. Yet he doesn’t know what to make of it. Sensing Jon’s confusion, the Mountain explains further.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is for a man like me to find such a wanton thing as you? Other whore would make me pay my cock’s weight in coin for fear of me ruining them. But you’re free, and you moan better than any of them. So I keep you, little wolf. I want you to come here every night I’m here and let me do to you what I did tonight.” 

Jon feels his last resistance crushed to nothing and he hums sleepily in ascent, content. Then he slumps back meekly against Gregor and enjoys all the ways his body is still joined and warmed by the Mountain’s, already dreaming of the next time he would be fucked by the gigantic man.


	2. Of Regrets, Tearing Decisions and...Unexpectations?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm going back to school soon, and seeing as I'm in the final term of my program, I'm sorry to say that following chapters might come more sporadically, and with delay between chapters! I'm sorry for that, and I hope you understand. Still, I will try my best to move this fic forward as fast as I can!

In answer for this prompt: 

_I read a fic recently in which the Mountain came to Winterfell with the king and drew the lust of Jon Snow, which he returned. Since then, I can't get out of my head the idea of Gregor taking Jon back to his keep with him to be a sort of concubine. The most plausible ways I've thought of for this to happen is if he asked to take Jon as his squire or if he sent men to kidnap him on his way to the Night's Watch (which Jon surprisingly doesn't mind when he realizes what's hapening). I would prefer that this be consensual, though I know Jon being totally okay with being a kept man is kinda OOC. The Mountain doesn't strike me as a particularly shameful, though, so I don't think he would keep Jon hidden away beyond what was necessary to prevent war with the North._

Whoever you are anon, thanks for the ideas, and the prompting to get further into this ship!!! You have no idea how much I'm into writing the stuff you asked, and way more!!! (I didn't mentioned your different bonuses, to not spoil too much the fun, but do not worry that they should mostly be satisfied!)

Chapter 2 

Regrets.

The kind of which makes him feel like curling in a tight ball and scream his throat hoarse, or claw at his skin until there is no more to pull off, or even cry every tear he has until every parcel of his being is as cold and dry as the freezing hell he’s heading to.

That’s all what he has now.

Wind blows strong wafts of icy air on him, but by now he’s so numb by it that he barely notices it. His whole body has stopped feeling much since he has waken this morning, heart throbbing and a small moan on the tip of his lips as his mind provided him with echoes of his most debauched moments. The ones he shared with the huge, gigantic beast of a man, the Mountain, Gregor Clegane, with whom he slept during the week of the man’s stay at Winterfell. For a really small moment he had craved to moan in a needy way, rutting against the bed sheets to release the tension lust had built up in his body. But a branch snapping beside him made him jolt and peer around like a prey spotted by a predator, or a thief found red hand. His eyes fell on the familiar shape of his uncle Benjen, and Jon realised with a pang of disappointment that it had been a dream, a sweet, warming dream like he has had since leaving Winterfell two days ago.

Every bumps of the road elicits a warm, pleasurable fluttering sensation in his backside, still a little bit sore from his last coupling with the Mountain. This is the only comfort he has as he travels further and further North, to the Wall. He swallows small moans, and thanks the gods that his blood is so frozen that he cannot blush properly each time his uncle, or even the quite perceivable Tyrion Lannister, look at him with hints of concern and curiosity. Head filled by his warm memories, body numb and shivering by the freezing weather, Jon rides to his new future, his new home. A cage of snow and ice.

Damn, how he regrets things cannot be different!

Eyes unseeing, Jon allows himself to reminisce about the night the Mountain and him had sex for the first time, as well as the following days and nights. It still astounds him how easily he yielded under the Mountain’s firmness. He had known by then that he liked men, that the pleasure found in laying with one could be more tremendous than anything else he knew of. Looking at other, well-shaped men tended to make him salivate as his insides turned into jelly. The more imposing, the greater the effect. Yet he had never expected to turn into such a lusty, needy mess under the Mountain’s strong hands. Hells, it makes him blush with shame even thinking about it now. He’d never have believed how debased he could act for lust before meeting the biggest man of Westeros. And his imposing endowment. 

The next morning had been a revelation of its own. Every single times he has had sex with another man before, it was short, to the point and with barely an aftermath once they had spent themselves. So it was a first for Jon to come back to himself, mind still fuzzy from the wine and the strength of his climax as his whole body still sung with pleasure. And find himself snuggled against a warm, and firm, and strong body. He had still been trapped in the strong embrace of the Mountain, still impaled and filled to the brim by the gigantic man. He could not remember any more pleasant sensation. And then, when the big man had groaned in his sleep, before closing his arms more firmly around Jon and wriggling in his back, Jon had known he was doomed to crave this feeling for the rest of his life. 

 

_It didn’t take much of him wriggling back and huffing contentedly to raise passion up again in his companion. Soon enough he felt the manhood still trapped inside him filling with blood, and getting bigger and bigger. That was another novelty for him, one he totally enjoyed as his sore and throbbing hole got to be slowly stretched again, until the sensation edged between pleasure and a thrilling pain. Yet he was still all wet from all the oil and the come from next evening, and it didn’t take much for his imposing lover to simply ram in him again, the discomfort fading progressively to transform again into maddening, burning pleasure. When the man started to angle his hips a certain way, Jon surprised himself by screaming and moaning in bliss. A shamefully small while later, he reached his peak and came, his whole body convulsing under the force of his orgasm. A couple of thrusts later, the Mountain came too, groaning loudly as his hands squeezed Jon’s hips painfully and he bite in Jon’s nape, not unlike a dog claiming his bitch._

_It took another long while for Jon to resurface, still impaled on the Mountain’s cock, still feeling full with his seeds. The sky was bright, yet Jon felt so lax he couldn’t be bothered with it anymore. They didn’t talk much as the Mountain finally removed himself from his backside. Jon felt blood burn his face at how much seeds poured out from his stretched entrance. He let him do as he wished when the imposing man ran his fingers between his cheeks and probed his distended hole, going as far as to insert two fingers in him and scissor his loose walls, making more come pour out of him. Then with a slap of his sore and wet rear, the man uttered a lascivious_

_“Off you go, bitch. Before I fill you up again.”_

_Jon didn’t reply to that. He simply hobbled down the bed on unsteady legs, before bending over to pick his clothes. The small whine of pain-laced pleasure he let out then made the man smile and chuckle smugly. Hell, he felt so filthy, so ashamed, yet so sated and content, that Jon just wriggled in his clothes again, all the while watching the big, imposing man now casually laying on the bed watching him in a possessive way. In a way which made his heart swell with desire, and lust, and pride. In a way he got to feel only when he made a man yield and take him, like Will had done, and so many other strong and manly men seemed to wish at Jon’s sight. He made sure to maintain a lascivious sway of his rear as he turned around and walked to the door._

_“Come back here tonight, boy.”_

_Jon wasn’t surprised by the gruff order. Yet it was his pleasure to innocently hesitate at the door, before giving a small, brief nod of his head followed by a polite, meek “Ser”_

_The walk to his room was excruciating. Cheeks flushed with shame, footing destabilised by the soreness in his loins, Jon kept walking, hoping to not cross anybody’s path. He rushed all the more when he felt warm liquid running down the inside of his tights._

_He had just reached the doorknob to his rooms when he heard the neighbour door open, and Theon Greyjoy got out with his usual, leery smile. Of course, Jon had to meet him now, while still bearing all the marks and signs of his debauched night._

_“She must have been a hell of a good whore, for you to get back so late, Snow.”_

_Jon felt a certain pang of relief lighten his chest as he heard the other young man state his suspicion that Jon had spent the night with a whore. Better that than him finding out he had been with a man, the most brutal one of them all at that!_

_“Get back to your rooms Greyjoy!”_

_He just stated, not in the mood of arguing with the bane of his life._

_“Come on, you could share all the sweet details. Wait, take that back. I don’t want sweet. I want dirty.” With that, the ward looked him down from head to feet, his eyes stopping near his groin. “Or maybe not. Snow, do I want to know what happened for you to wet your pants?”_

_Jon didn’t wait one more moment before getting in the privacy of his rooms, shutting back the door loudly behind him and pulling the lock on it so as to not be pestered by the ward. Still, he could hear Theon’s laugh through the wooden door, soon followed by the reminder that Ser Castle expected them on the training field in less than an hour._

_Jon sighed, seething and feeling utterly ashamed to have been found all messy after his lusty moment with the Mountain, and by Theon fucking Greyjoy! He wasted no time undressing to assess the damages in his clothes, and hissed in concerned shock when he glimpsed at all the mess dirtying his pants. His attempts to wet the garments and wipe the mess off of his sodden pants were pitiful. And thus, it was with cheeks burning and a great feeling of shame and misery that he threw the garment under his bed, hoping that by the time it was found out by a maid, dust would have covered it enough that all the filth would not look suspicious. Only then he bent over his dresser and cleaned his still sore and leaking hole. He was so opened that he had no trouble getting his wet clothed-covered fingers in his entrance and clean there._

_Lying face down on the bed, Jon felt himself being crushed with guilt and shame. Hell, what his father, or his brothers and sisters would think of him if they got to know how debased and lecherously he had acted under the Mountain’s firm hands. No better than a wanton whore or a lusty bitch. No better than what everybody else expected of a bastard born of lust like him._

_His depressed feelings had totally weighted him down when he heard knockings at his door, soon followed by Robb’s voice telling him that Ser Castle was waiting for them on the training ground. For a good moment, Jon contemplated not moving, pretending that he was ill from all the alcohol of the night before. But he knew it could not be done. He didn’t want his father coming at him and lecturing him about the good conduct in society and how a man should always be careful of his cup._

_Training while trying to not show how sore he actually was became a challenge Jon had not expected. Robb beat him on their first round as easily as if Jon was still overdrunk. This at least was not too much of a feat seeing how close they were in their fighting skills. But when he got beaten down by Theon, who was way less good than him with a sword, Jon really got regrets of not just staying in bed. Of course, Theon jested about his win over Jon._

_“Well, that girl must have really worn you out last night, Snow! Unless you actually spent the whole night talking about what better way to get your hair all more pretty!”_

_He said low enough so that only Jon could hear. Jon wanted to beat the hell out of him, show him that he was not to be messed with. But at that very moment, he heard some voices talking behind him. He turned around, expecting to see some of his father’s swordsmen, or minor lords, having a look at the training ground. But it was the king, with his father and their small entourage. And of course, the Mountain was there with them, looking at Jon intently._

_For a brief moment Jon’s rage was replaced with shame, and guilt, and something which had his gut clenched and burning with raw need and desire. He hated the filthy, smug way the man was looking at him just as much as he loved the dominating, possessive way he did it, eyes filled with desire._

_Jon didn’t know where it came from when he hit Theon more vigorously than ever after Ser Castle gave them the signal to start fighting again. A part of him wanted to show the Mountain that he was not a weak boy, or prone to submit himself without a proper fight. It was not because lust had made him easily malleable last night that it meant Jon was weak. Another part of him wanted to get all his frustration, his guilt and his shame out by kicking the hell out of his opponents._

_And another part of him, the biggest but the one Jon wanted least to be acknowledged, craved for the Mountain’s attention, his pride at his strength and his sword skills. Jon wanted him to see that he was a wolf after all, not just in name, or as close as it could get seeing how he bore a bastard’s name._

_Jon barely noticed it when Theon switched places with Robb, and then with some other opponent, and again, and again. He just fought, possessed by an energy such as he had never felt before. When Castle finally called out the end of the training session after Jon had pushed his bulky opponent on the ground and pointed his sword at his throat, Jon was panting, sweat covering his whole body as if he had just jumped in the hot springs. He also felt sore all over, so much that he barely noticed the one coming from his backside anymore._

_He looked up again to peer at the spectators; he barely noticed the surprised awe his father expressed, or the approval in the king’s smile. His eyes were all on one man, the man. The Mountain. He still had his smug smile, arms crossed over his massive torso in a casual way. But alongside possessiveness and desire, there was now respect in his eyes. He gave Jon a small, nearly imperceptive nod of the head, before following the King’s party as they got back to their walk._

_As his eyes took in sight his fallen rival, who looked at him as if he was the Warrior himself, Jon had this great feeling of satisfaction and pride raise in him. He might be a bastard, and one who liked to be taken by men, but he was a man, a fighter, and a strong one at that! He might feel a pang of guilt settle in his chest when he saw the pained and sore way his other opponents hold themselves, but the look of admiration in their eyes made him feel warm and like he could do anything right now._

_They all remained quiet as they got back in the armory to remove their gear. Jon felt like bursting with pride at his achievement of today, and the way the Mountain had looked approvingly at him. How odd it was that for him it was as important and pleasing as if his father had patted his head and told him well done? It made him feel as small as his five years old self again, yet impossibly tall and powerful._

_“I bet that girl of yours was watching Snow! You did it all to impress her, isn’t it? So that she wouldn’t feel so ashamed of having you between her tights again tonight!”_

_Theon groans with his cocky smile, rubbing his shoulder where Jon provided him with a vicious hit of the sword. There will be a bruise there in no time. And Jon didn’t feel a piece of remorse over it. Actually, he didn’t even feel the sting of his insult, as he usually would._

_“You’re such a sore loser, aren’t you Greyjoy!” He said back with glee._

_Jon kept his good mood even after he left the armory, leaving a sullen Theon and a sore Robb behind so as to get back to the privacy of his room. He had a pleased smile stretching his face, and he was aware people were watching him with curiosity, he who was not used to smile much. But he didn’t care, so happy he felt right now._

_And then he turned a corner and overheard the discussion Jorry was having with Ser Rodrick Castle._

_“I swear it! The Mountain himself wanted Jon Snow as his squire. He asked Lord Stark, but he didn’t even hesitate before saying No!” Jon heard Jorry say_

_“Such a pity! Did he say why?” Ser Castle asked with concern in his voice._

_“Only that Jon always wanted to go to the Wall to make a name there!”_

_“I can’t say I love that plan. Poor young man, sacrificing his life while there are still so many things he should discover. But the Mountain must not have been keen on this refusal?"_

_“No he was not. The look in his eyes gave me the shivers! Neither was the king. When the Mountain failed to argue with Lord Stark over having Jon for himself, the King got in the fight. He too wanted the boy as his squire.”_

_“Really?”_

_“Aye indeed! But the queen reminded him that his lords wouldn’t take lightly the slight of having their noble sons refused to this position while a bastard one got it. And Ned was fast to agree with it. Even the offer of transferring him as the Kingslayer’s squire was refused!”_

_“Well, I can understand that one! Who would want to trust their son to such a dishonorable murderer! And a Lannister at that!”_

_“Aye! Lord Stark cut the discussion short by saying that the arrangements were already long taken, and that he couldn’t go back on his word. For honor!”_

_“Poor boy! A real waste!” Ser Castle finally said as the two men started to walk away from Jon’s corner._

_For a long while, Jon remained frozen on the spot, unmoving and feeling so lost. His smile was gone, replaced by his usual pouty frown, and all feelings of glee had left him. He was offered position as a squire? It was a thing he had thought could happen only in his dreams, never in real life. Never for him, a bastard! He didn’t even know which one was more flattering, by the King, or by the Mountain? And his father said no, without even talking about it to him! His father would rather see him gone at the wall, far from the rest of the world, than see him take a chance and make a life of his own!_

_Some children’s giggles not far reminded Jon that he was still outside, and very not alone. He felt so upset right now that he didn’t feel like remaining in public, or risk to draw attention on himself. So he resumed his walk back to his rooms, where he knew he could mop to his heart’s content without disrupting anyone. And hell, he felt sore all over now that his glee was gone._

_When he reached his rooms, Ghost welcomed him with a soft whine and a nudge of his nose, his eyes looking up at him with something beaten in them. He didn’t hesitate one bit before letting his wolf pup climb on the bed with him, cradling the small albino on his chest as he cuddled it. For the umpteenth time, he cursed the gods for having made him born a bastard, doomed to a life of shame, refusal and unhappiness. He always wished to make a name of his own. And even thought the Wall had always seemed a good solution for it, he could not bear the thought of going freeze himself away there when he now had a chance to travel and see the world, to learn from knights duty, honor and swordsmanship. Why did his father had to deny him that? He could understand his doubts about being the King’s squire, but certainly he could have been great under Jaime Lannister, who was still a great knight even though he had betrayed his oath once. And everybody knew how great and redoubtable the Mountain was. He would certainly have a better chance at making a name of his own under the tutelage of such a man._

_As furious thoughts came swirling in his unnerved mind, Jon’s fingers scratched the top of Ghost’s head, right between the ears. He swallowed and blinked dazedly as he heard the small pet purr with contentment in his arms. His furious thoughts now came in a jumbled mess. Damn his father for wrecking his life, for wrecking him up. Why couldn’t he just talk this through with Jon? It was Jon’s life after all! They should talk about it. Jon will go see him in his solar this evening, after the evening meal. And they would talk, thoroughly, about Jon’s future. They will arrange it_

_It’s funny how after a while Jon felt totally more appeased and calm. Watching his pet now dozing off on his chest even made Jon feel more drowsy. Ghost eyelids fluttered closed, and so did Jon’s_

_He startled awake when he heard loud knocks on his door, soon followed by it opening. He must have fallen asleep while petting his familiar, who was now jumping off of Jon to go curl in front of the fireplace, his eyes looking between Jon and his visitor in a wary way. The wolf always did that when his father came in there, as if he didn’t want him to berate Jon because he was on the bed, or because of any ill behavior._

_Jon sat on the bed, rubbing his eyes to wake himself some. He looked at the window, cursing inwardly when he noticed how dark it had become outside. Hell, how long had he been asleep? Long enough to miss the lunch meal and waste his whole afternoon it seemed!_

_He watched as his father walked calmly to his bed, then sat beside him on it, not unlike when Jon was little and Ned would come tuck him in before wishing him good night._

_“I came to see how you fare after this morning’s training. You were great by the way! Not that I ever doubted it!”_

_Jon swallowed at this show of paternal love, thing he has always craved for, and would always get glad for when he was met with some. Yet the discussion he had overheard this morning in the courtyard prevented him from enjoying it as he would usually do._

_“I’m fine father!” He said after he swallowed the lump in his throat._

_His father smiled warmly at him, then his eyes roamed around the room, stopping on Ghost who was now licking his paws on the floor._

_“Have I told you that you’re training him well? Better than your siblings, although Sansa seems to have got the hang of it with her Lady!”_

_That other praise really warmed Jon up, and he started to feel bad about being angry at his father. Yet it was too great a decision he took without talking it through with Jon. He cannot let it go that easily!_

_“Something is troubling you son. Don’t you want to talk about it with me?”_

_The question was too great an opportunity to miss, and soon enough, Jon let out what was on his mind._

_“Why can’t I be a squire?” He asked in an instant._

_Instantly his father sighed and lowered his eyes. “And here I thought you were troubled by a girl!”_

 

“Jon, are you okay?”

Jon startles out of his reverie, then looks around only to notice that it’s dark around, and that he’s still on his horse, while the men are already preparing the camp for the night. He looks for the source of the voice, not surprised when he finds out that it’s his uncle Benjen, looking up at him with concern from down on the ground. After a while of confusion, Jon nods and utters a small “I’m fine Uncle Benjen” at him and gets down his horse, wasting no time getting himself busy while ignoring his cheeks blazing with shame.

Fortunately for Jon, his uncle leaves him at that with barely a pat on his heavily garbed shoulder to get back to his own tasks. Jon refuses to meet anyone else’s eyes, but he’s sure he hears some snickers behind him, and some comments about green boy and their first loves.

It grounds him to walk around and still feel the soreness at his rear, as well as the bruises on his hips left by the well-felt grip the Mountain left behind. Later that night, after having walked away from his group to make his water in private, Jon cannot resist touching and pressing these bruises, remembering all the ways the Mountain had pinned him down with vigor and pounded his imposing girth in Jon wildly. He feels blood pour in his cock and make it harden, yet he hesitates before taking himself in hand, not sure he wants to take care of his need in the open, where anybody can walk on him doing it. The cold is a deterrent too. Yet one more press of a particular bruise near his groin sells him to it and soon enough Jon fists his cock furiously, clenching the muscle of his entrance as hard as he could to accentuate the soreness there and recreate in his mind the feeling of being speared on the Mountain’s cock. Jon can only think the Mountain was right when he promised Jon he would ruin him for other guys. All Jon can think about is the way he has been speared over the huge member, the way it had felt like nothing has ever done before. He wants more of it, craves for it more than food, or water, or anything else. The thought of this imposing manhood exploding in him makes Jon come with great convulsions as he bites his lips to muffle a scream and his own manhood explodes like a volcano on the tree bark.

He’s leaning against the tree, enjoying the aftermath of his orgasm as he slowly shakes the last remnants of semen away from the tip of his cock and tucking himself in when he hears footsteps behind him. He wastes no more time dawdling and recompose himself before turning back to peer at the man coming at him. His uncle, of course. He prays for the older man to not notice the shameful trace he left on the tree, and even angle himself in front of it so that his uncle would not see it.

“Spill it! You did it, isn’t it?” His uncle asks him in a serious tone.

Jon chokes, and feels his frozen face blush a bright red as shock and shame hit him. Of all the moment for his uncle to come and surprise him, he had to pick this one. Do the old gods really hate him? They must take pleasure in his misery.

“Sorry uncle Benjen! I thought I was alone!” He answers while looking down like a child found out red hand while stealing some sweets from the kitchen.

“What? What do you mean you thought you were alone?” His uncle asks, shocked.

“Well, there was nobody, and I just felt…like doing it?”

For a long, awkward moment, Benjen looks confused over Jon’s words. Then realisation dawns on his face as he looks Jon up and down, then at the three. A furious blush spreads on his cheeks as he seems to get as ill at ease as Jon.

“I was talking about your girl. You know, the one who has you all dreamy and blushing at any given time, and being all dejected.” He finally says.

It’s Jon’s time to be confused over his uncle’s words. What girl? Then it dawns on him that his uncle has taken for granted that Jon had been with a girl before leaving Winterfell. Theon too had thought so, as did Robb, if the small awkward smile he had given Jon before they parted was any indication. And his father of course. So why not uncle Benjen?

“Ha.” Is the only thing Jon manages to say after a long silence.

“Yeah.” His uncle repeats, the reflection of Jon’s unease. 

Fortunately, Benjen sighs and seems to realises that him being the older, more experienced man, it might be up to him to stir the discussion away from this awkwardness.

“You know, there is no shame to be had in any case. You’re young and healthy. And you should have your taste of women’s flesh before giving it all up once at the Wall. If it means anything, I’m glad you did. Although I am concerned about you. You seem more like a sad, kicked puppy who had his tail stepped on than an happy lad who’s enjoyed his first woman.”

Jon doesn’t know what to answer to any of it. Should he tell the truth and negate his uncle’s belief that Jon has had sex with a girl at least once before going to live at the wall? Or should he go for the truth and tell him that he has actually slept with a man. Sex is still sex, but doing it with men rather than women is frowned upon, and the last thing Jon wants is for his uncle to be proud of him laying with a woman only to be disappointed when he learns that it was actually a man.

“It’s all okay, uncle Benjen. Whatever it was, it’s over.” He says, unable to hide a hint of regret in his voice.

Benjen’s eyes soften as he grasps Jon’s shoulder and turn him around so that they can walk back to the camp. It makes Jon feel as he would when he was younger and that apart from his father, Benjen was the only other parental figure who would touch him and show some affection toward him. It makes a lump grow in Jon’s throat as his chest warms.

“I know it must not have been an easy thing to split with her, whoever she was. It’s never easy to be with a woman. But I see enough lads your age, sometimes even younger, who never got the luck of trying themselves with girls. At least, you can remember the good parts, and be glad that at least you got to try yourself at being with one, rather than regret never having even tried. Life is so short, it would have been even sadder for you to not even try.”

Jon is too moved, and too lost, to know what to answer to that. So instead he remains quiet, nodding in understanding at his uncle’s wise words. There is some right in it. He is actually glad of what happened between him and the Mountain, and it is a relief that he will always have the memory of it to keep him warm at night once at the Wall. But he still feels sad that it is over. And he’s still burning with rage and regrets that it was not even his choice, but rather his father’s.

“Jon, just to be sure, because I have to ask in case. You made sure the girl would not get with any child, isn’t it?”

Jon blushes furiously at that. The gods really are making fun at his expenses! “Have no worry, uncle Ben. There won’t be any child.” He stammers awkwardly.

“Good! Good. Now I suggest you get some rest. Tomorrow will be another long day of riding.” His uncle says warmly while giving a last rub of Jon’s shoulder. 

Jon is still so at a lost as to what this discussion was all about, and how come he had it with his uncle, that it takes him a small while of remaining frozen on spot, alone, to pull himself together. When he finally moves, most men are already tucked under their cover snoring peacefully as few others remain near the fire, some to enjoy some more time before their sleep, and some others to take their round of guard. 

As Jon finally gets back to sleep, his thoughts get to that other meaningful discussion he had. The one where his father told him what it meant to be a bastard. Not in these words of course. But it still had hurt Jon the discussion they had had about him becoming a squire.

 

_“Why can’t I be a squire?” He asked in an instant._

_Instantly his father sighed and lowered his eyes. “And here I thought you were troubled by a girl!”_

_“What?” Jon exclaimed, confused._

_“Well, I heard Robb and Theon talk about it, about how you weren’t in your rooms last night. And I saw the way you fought this morning while training. I thought you were trying to impress a girl.”_

_“It still doesn’t explain why you don’t want me to become a squire.” He says to stir away from the discussion about his tryst._

_His father sighed again, eyes softening as his shoulders hunched slightly as if they were suddenly weighted down by his many years. It made Jon ache in his chest, yet he had to know._

_“What did you hear?” His father asked, looking everywhere but at him._

_“The gist of it I guess. That the Mountain offered to take me as his squire, and that you flat out refused. And then that the king himself offered, but that it would seem unfair for a bastard to get a position noble born sons aspire to. But they still insisted I should become squire, even Jaime Lannister’s one. And you told them that you have already made the arrangements, and that honor bounds you to them.” Of course, Jon kept to himself that he had overheard it from Jorry and Ser Castle. There was no way he would get these men, who have always shown him respect even though he is a bastard, in trouble by telling on them._

_“Then you already know why you cannot be the king’s squire. It would indeed be unfair for any of the king’s lords to be refused having their trueborn sons sent to the king as his squires while my natural one get this honor. They would be resentful, and wouldn’t make your life any easier. As for the other offers, I don’t think it’s wise for you to be in Jaime’s charge in anything. I don’t trust the man, or his kind, and I know they wouldn’t take lightly to be offered someone like you as a pupil.”_

_“And the Mountain?”_

_Jon asked with a lump in his throat. It still made him feel all weird that the man had offered to take him as his squire. He has never offered it to anyone before. So he must have been really impressed by Jon to offer it himself. That or he must really desire Jon for him to make this offer._

_“The man is brutal, and unruly. You should stay far away from him, Jon!” His father said with shadows in his eyes and something somber in his face._

_“But I might want to be his squire nonetheless. There would be prestige at being his squire!”_

_Jon insisted hesitantly. Hell, was his lust so overwhelming that he would abandon all reason to just get bedded by the man again!_

_“Jon, I’m sorry that this whole situation hurt you. But it’s better that way. Trust me; I know what I’m doing. Besides, the arrangements are really made for you to join the Nightwatch. It’s your dream since you’re a child to go there and make a name of your own.” His father added while laying his hand over Jon’s shoulder._

_“What if it’s not any longer?” Jon asked with a hint of stubbornness, knowing how childlike he sounded even to his own ears, and hating it. Yet it was his life they were discussing about. He had to care for it before it was snatched from his fingers._

_“What do you mean Jon?” His father asked with a hint of concern in his voice._

_“What if I want to be a squire, and see the world, and make decisions for myself?” He asked in a smaller voice._

_His father sighed again. “I’m sorry Jon, but it cannot be. Not any longer. If I go back on my words about you, the King will wonder why, as would Ser Clegane. It would seem unfair to refuse their offer while there is no more valid reason for it. And I know you would be safe at the Wall, while it would not be so were you to go to Kings Landing or anywhere else. And it would be hard here too.”_

_His father last said, not needing to explain to Jon that the only reason Lady Catelyn tolerated the presence of the bastard child of her husband was because Ned was there to take care of him, and to alleviate the pain of it. But with his father gone to serve as a Hand of the king, there would be no more such agreement. Lady Stark would want him gone, and not one hour later than her husband’s departure._

_“I’m so sorry Jon, for all the grief I have caused you. I hope you will find it in you to forgive me. But all I want is for you to be well and safe. And the Wall is the best solution for it!”_

_His father said in a final tone before patting Jon on the top of the head. Jon let him for a small moment, feeling weak and extremely young all of a sudden. He closed his eyes in misery, not daring to look up at his father and let him see his pain. His father seemed to take the hint, because the moment ended and he removed his hand from Jon’s head. Another sight and his father rose from the bed and walked to the door._

_Jon did not watch him leave. He just remained curled on the bed, feeling so very hopeless, and helpless. He cursed himself for having ever thought that he would be better off at the Wall. Now he regretted it all. He was so lost in his dark thoughts that he didn’t move from his bed when he heard his stomach growl angrily, and the pain in his belly reminded him that he still had not eaten any food today, while it was now supper time. Yet he didn’t want to face anybody right now, least of all Theon Greyjoy, who would certainly only make him feel more depressed. He would go down to the kitchen later, when the meal would be finished and most people would have gotten back to their room._

_He must have dozed off again, because next thing he knew, he was waken up again by knocks at his door. He barely had time to sit up before the door opened and an unknown man stepped in, uncaring of not having been invited. He was tall, with shaggy dark hairs that reached his shoulders. With his stubble and a scar covering his jaw, he looked rough and uncouth. Jon felt uneasy right away._

_“Can’t you knock before entering? And who in the seven Hells are you?” Jon asked the intruder in an outraged tone, feeling too jaded by his discussion with his father to care about civilities._

_“Tut, tut! Stop barking young wolf! Ser Clegane sent for you. He wants you in his rooms and not later than now.”_

_Whoever the man was, he talked with an authority which had Jon unsettled. Right now, the last thing he wanted was to face anybody. Yet, there was something promising in going back to the Mountain._

_“I said NOW!”_

_The disheveled man bellowed roughly, making Jon jump and startle out of his reverie. Always such a god, proper boy, he muttered an apology right away, lowering his eyes on the ground before remembering that the stranger man was nothing to him, and that he could not do anything to him. He gritted his teeth in contained rage, but moved before his mind had time to suggest otherwise. And now that he had started walking, he would look totally ridiculous to stop and keep sulking. All he could do was go for it like a man._

_Fortunately, apart from a “Good boy!” that the rough man said in a mimic of a praise, accompanied by a pat of Jon’s hairs, the man didn’t do or say anything else as he walked Jon to his Lord’s rooms. It actually became awkward for Jon, who didn’t know if he should try to talk to the man, even if it was just to get his name, or if he should remain silent, and ignore him to show his resentfulness toward his disrespect of him._

_Finally they arrive in front of the Mountain’s door and Jon abandoned all hopes of small chat as the rough man opened the door, rudely preceding Jon in. As he walked in himself, Jon was surprised to see that there was a platter of food on the table, with some bread, some cheese, a bowl of broth and a piece of meat, all still smoking hot. Instantly Jon’s stomach emitted a loud gargle, loud enough that the two other men turned to look at him. Jon lowered his eyes right away, cheeks blazing with shame._

_“Your boy, my Lord!” The rude man said with a raised brow and a smile, showing for the first time signs of courtesy._

_“Aye! Now leave us Luke!”_

_The Mountain, who was sitting at the table, grumped to the other man, his eyes never leaving Jon, piercing him in a way which had Jon’s inside turn into jelly. He blushed furiously and looked down, urging with his mind the Luke man to walk out of the room faster, so that he could be alone with the Mountain. The man nodded at the Mountain, and turned around, smirking at Jon as he took all his sweet time getting out, going even as far as to smirk at Jon once he was passing him._

_It was only when he knew he was alone with the imposing man that Jon looked up from the ground to peer at the other man. Who was still looking at him in such a lewd way that it made Jon feel like he was burning all over, and the muscles of his loins tensed in a way which had him blush all the more. Already his body was betraying him and craved for something Jon was ashamed to want. He craved for it more than a hungry man craved food._

_“ Come here young wolf!” He grumped, tapping the seat of the chair as one would tap on his lap to call over a dog._

_Jon swallowed the lump in his throat. It would be so easy for him to just walk forward, and obey this impressive hulk of a man. A part of him, the one he wanted the most to shut down so that he could think clearly, strived to obey the command. But another one, the one which had bloomed with victory and pride earlier on the training grounds, recoiled and rebelled._

_“I’m not a dog.” He groaned, only to swallow again when he saw the tightening of the other man’s lips. “I mean, I’m not on anyone’s beck and call… like a dog. I’m a man.” He added._

_He startled when the Mountain rose suddenly from his seat, knocking the table and making the platters of food shake and clatter on the table. The imposing man slowly walked the few steps separating him from Jon, making Jon shiver and quiver in anticipation each time he felt the ground vibrate under his feet. Yet he maintained his eyes focused in challenge on the dark, piercing ones of the Mountain. He will suffer for this, and he knew it, but he couldn’t refrain himself from doing it. Even when the man finally stopped in front of him, Jon’s head barely reaching the man’s pectorals, Jon still craned his neck to look the man in the eyes._

_He jumped when a hand harshly seized the hairs on the back of his head and made his head lower even more backward, so that he could not look away from the Mountain’s eyes even if he wanted. He swallowed, his whole body shivering in anticipation of what the man would do to him. The man looked at him intently, taking in his shallow panting, his flushed cheeks, his squirming body, and his wet lips that he kept licking with anxiousness. Then he smiled as smugly as ever, and Jon nearly purred when the man started talking in his low, cavernous voice, now filled with something akin to suaveness, if such a thing could be associated with the man._

_“Yet you’re here young Wolf! I called for you, and you came as fast as any of my dogs. You can glare and groan and bark all you want to pretend that you’re not. But I know better. You’re just a needy bitch, waiting to be fucked senseless by stronger, manlier men.”_

_The Mountain said as his other hand caressed Jon’s cheek, making him close his eyes in pleasure. The hand, slowly but with insistence, made its way down his cheek, then pressed against his throat, feeling the muscles work as Jon swallowed, before running down Jon’s chest, the hand so heavy that Jon could feel the warmth of it even through his three layers of cloth._

_“Here you are, with the greatest man of them all, panting and squirming your ass in earnest under your whines. Don’t even bother to lie or deny it, young Wolf. We both know that you crave for me to fuck you like a bitch all over again. And again. And again.”_

_With that, the Mountain’s free hand landed over Jon’s rear and squeezed the flesh there so tightly that Jon keened wantonly, aroused both by the pleasure and the exquisite pain of such an owning gesture. His eyes were blown with desire; he could tell by the way he had trouble seeing more than a few feet in front of him. It didn’t come as a surprise when he realized that he was humping his hard cock against the man’s thigh, small whines of need escaping his lips. It did come as a surprise though when every traces of the other man on him were removed as suddenly as they had come. He whined distressfully, watching as the other man chuckled and walked back to the table, sitting there the same way he had been doing when Jon first came in. He smiled with glee, before tapping the empty seat next to him with a taunting frown._

_“Come here, Wolf bitch. Time to eat “_

_Jon groaned in frustration, but this time he moved forward obediently, his hunger and lust overcoming his outrage at such a degrading gesture. Besides, the man had it right: Jon craved to be treated like a – no; he still could not think it. He felt the Mountain’s hand cradle his closest thigh the moment he sat, and the close proximity of the colossal man made him feel all small and weak as young pup. He had trouble breathing as the hand tightened until his thigh was all immobilized, shivering from the strong touch. His leaking manhood strained against his trousers right away, creating a damp spot there in a matter of seconds , and Jon felt lust pour through his veins. Hell, his hunger was nearly forgotten, replaced by the need to be under the gigantic man all over again._

_“Eat. Small men shouldn’t skip on meals. My young wolf even less!”_

_Jon didn’t remember if the man had still spoken anything so possessive while addressing him, but the combination of “My” and “Young wolf” made him harden all the more and shiver all over with need. The man smiled smugly at that, all too aware of Jon’s lustful reaction to his words, combined with his touch._

_Jon didn’t feel like eating anymore, but he forced his shaking hand to reach for the spoon, and started to gulp spoonsful of broth in his mouth, swallowing it with a tight throat. As Jon ate, the Mountain’s hand kept roaming on his tight, then started to rub his sides and his lower abdomen through his clothes. Jon let him do as he wished, shivering with pleasure under the exploring hand, while still trying to get food in his mouth._

_He didn’t remember having ever eaten so fast in his life. He kept gulping wine to help the food get down, not taking any care that because the other man kept pouring in his cup with his free hand to keep it full, Jon’s head soon started spinning and his whole body felt pleasantly lax. It came as a shock when he couldn’t find food anymore with his spoon, or wait, he’d traded it with a fork without even noticing the change, and all he could find were crumbles. The realization that he had eaten it all barely hit his hazy mind that the Mountain savagely pulled on the shoulder of Jon’s clothes to pull him on shaky feet, then dragged him to the bed and threw him on the mattress not waiting for him to catch his balance before tearing at his breeches with urgency._

_Once he started hearing reaping sounds behind him, Jon startled and started helping the bigger man getting him undressed. His hands were shaky, and he felt all clumsy from his urgency and the alcohol he had absorbed. But together, they still managed to remove his clothing, and mostly intact at that._

_A playful swat landed on Jon’s offered rear, making him yelp and move forward by reflex. He extended a shy hand to his sore bottom, wanting to rub the skin as per habit when he’d get pained somewhere, but the imposing man behind him grasped his wrist before he could get there, then swatted his bottom twice with his free hand. Jon hissed, more annoyed than pained, and writhed in the Mountain’s grasp to avoid some other teasing smacks on his rear. He heard the man chuckle, and craned his neck to glare at him._

_“Such a sweet, teasing ass! Come on, move forward bitch!” The man jested behind Jon, a predatory smile on his lips._

_When another swat landed on Jon’s backside, he growled in irritation and pouted angrily, if not in disobedience, then at least to show that he was no meek dog. He did move forward though when yet another teasing swat urged him forward, and crawled on all four to the other man’s amusement. It turned in a loud groan when Jon swayed his hips in what he hoped was a seducing way, giving an arch to his back to make sure he looked enticing. He could not repress a smug smile of his own at the knowledge he had beaten the Mountain at his own game._

_When he reached the head of the bed, it did not surprise Jon to feel strong hands grasp his rear and palm his slightly reddened backside, holding his cheeks wide apart in a lewd, possessive way. Jon swallowed, feeling burning like a volcano from all the alcohol and the desire pouring through him. His cock was already leaking clear liquid all over the mattress. As he had done the previous evening, the Mountain positioned Jon the way he wished, like he would a doll. Again, Jon found himself face and chest against the mattress, with his bottom lift high in the air and his legs spread as wide as they could go._

_Jon could not hold himself still as the imposing man finally touched his needy entrance with the tip of his massive fingers, playing with it and teasing him as Jon’s hips writhed with need. It wasn’t long before he became a mess of moans and humping hips, feeling more debauched than ever in his whole life._

_This time, the man didn’t have Jon perform a show with his toys so as to get prepared for his huge manhood. From the gruffness and the usual harsh behaviour the man had around everyone else, Jon would think the man incapable of caring one bit about his partner, although he had to give it to him that he had been nice to change position when Jon had asked last evening. So it kind of surprised Jon when he felt grease being applied to his hole, then the brief breach of his entrance as fingers filled him. The pain of it was exquisite, as was the surprise of being touched there by such a beasty man. It nearly sent Jon over the edge right then. But then the fingers were replaced by his smaller toy, fast enough that his body clenched against it only when the man had buried the phallus to the hilt, making Jon grit his teeth and close his eyes in pain._

_The pain, mixed with some surprising pleasure, remained all through the penetration of his smaller toy, and increased when it got replaced by the bigger one. The preparation was still a little bit too hurried and quite on the side of painful but when the Mountain started filling Jon with his imposing cock, the thrill of being speared again by such an imposing girth had Jon all aroused and needy, although the pain was still crushing as hell. Yet, as he did the night before, Jon soldiered through the agonizing pain of being impaled again, this time knowing perfectly well how his body could accept it, and even be pleased by it._

_As the Mountain pushed his cock inside Jon, slow but with insistence, the man’s hands roamed over Jon’s body, discovering the darkening bruises from his morning training one by one, pressing on some until Jon moaned softly in pain. Weirdly, he felt like there was something nearly tender in the way this big, brutal hulk of a man explored his body with strong hands, but gentle touches. It didn’t take much of it for his body to relax fully and shiver in pleasure._

_A broken gasp escaped Jon’s lips when he felt the man’s hips thrust back nearly until he was fully gone from Jon’s backside, then slam in him so forcefully and fast that Jon’s whole body was propelled forward. From there on the man kept slamming into Jon at such a high speed that Jon felt his insides burn, before turning to jelly as his muscles came to accept the brutal intrusion._

_Jon found himself gasping small broken moans each time the giant cock rammed into him, droving him forward then backward as the man pulled on his hips. The pain never really left him, but soon enough the sharp feeling of too much became just right , and he found himself thrusting his hips back to meet the Mountain’s forceful thrusts, moaning and moaning as the fat cock banged deeper and deeper into him. ¸_

_Jon found himself more and more inebriated by the sound of their coupling, his small moans and gasps mixing with the Mountain’s hoarse groans and hums of satisfaction as well as the debauched sounds of sweaty flesh crashing against sweaty flesh forcefully. But the sound which really had him blushing and heady with lust was the one of his wet hole swallowing such imposing girth with a “shplock”, thrust after thrust, after thrust._

_Not able to resist anymore, Jon grasped his leaking, rock-hard cock and fisted it to the rhythm of the giant cock hammering into him. Only to have his hand snatched away from his cock and his arm bent viciously in his back after barely three or four thrusts. The man behind him never stopped his thrusting, didn’t even slow down as he maintained Jon’s arm there and talked in a reproachful, commanding tone which had Jon all the more needy._

_“Don’t you dare touch yourself like a man, Bitch! You come from my cock ramming in you! Only that!”_

_Jon didn’t know what kind of sound got out of him at this command, something between a frustrated whine and an elated keen. The next few thrusts in him were so strong and fast that his whole frame was moved forward with it, and his moans became animal with need. Then the man, a hand still pining Jon’s arm painfully in his back while the other hand was still holding his hip viciously, started angling his cock in a different way, one which had Jon choke on his moans and tense all over as his eyes widened in pleasured shock. Not half a dozen fast and brutal hits against his magical spot, and Jon whole body clenched violently before spasming as he yelped in pure, unaltered bliss._

_There was something of beauty in the way the Mountain roared in Jon’s back as he came just moments after him, his hips snapping painfully against Jon’s tender rear, his big and hairy scrotum hitting painfully Jon’s smaller one before covering it as the man buried his cock deep within Jon’s clenching hole. Jon felt like orgasming a second time, or prolonging his own climax, when he felt the long and powerful spurts of seed splash against his throbbing walls._

_After an impossibly long and potent orgasm, Jon slumped bonelessly against the mattress, a giddy smile on his lips as he felt the gigantic man behind him finish up inside him, his strong hands massaging Jon’s bruised hips. He thanked the gods that the man had made him position himself at the head of the bed, so that he just needed to grasp a pillow over him and lower it a few inches so that he could rest his head on it, and breath in the heady scent of the man. He was so spent he could not get hard again, not for a small while though. Yet as the strong, manly smell hit his nostrils, Jon felt himself shiver in contentment and some beginning of lust warmed his groin, making his spent cock twitch in lazy interest._

_Jon moaned in bliss when he felt the now flaccid cock slip out of his lax hole, the larger head catching at his entrance for a small while, before the Mountain gave a brutal shove to free himself. If he wasn’t already all flushed from his blasting orgasm, Jon would blush furiously at hearing the loud, wet “Plock” coming from his wet hole, even more so when he felt thick gobs of warm fluid escape his lax entrance and slide down behind his balls, before falling on the mattress. He gasped in surprise, and then hummed in contentment when he felt thick fingers trail up his scrotum to his hole, gathering a trail of fluid there before pushing it back in his hole with two fingers._

_“I’ll have to find some way to keep you plugged so that you keep it all in. You’d like that, isn’t it Bitch? To keep my seeds warm all through the night, until I give you another load in the morning. I’d fill you up like a real bitch for cubs.”_

_Jon moaned his assent, remembering the delicious feeling of being full with seeds from last night. He’d definitely like the experience. He obediently spread his lips and opened his mouth when the two same fingers which had just breached him, wet with seed, pushed against his lips with a gruff order to “lick them clean.” While the man positioned the both of them on their side, him spooning Jon in a lazy grasp, Jon kept sucking the digits, tasting the salty fluid there as well as grease and something of himself. It made him feel delightedly naughty. He made sure to release the digit only when the only thing he could taste on the man’s digits was the musky taste of his flesh._

_For a long while, they both dozed off contentedly, catching back their breath after such an intense climax. Jon’s heart slowed down in his chest, getting closer and closer to a regular pace as he slumbered more and more toward sleep. His eyelids were drooping heavily, when he caught a glimmer of metal at the corner of his vision. He glimpsed at the bowl in which he had eaten his broth, before taking in the assortment of wine glass, pitchers and plates. He had been so distracted by the man’s hands on him, too consumed by his lust, to notice that there were plates only for one person. Only for Jon._

_It came to his mind that the Mountain must have eaten in the Dining Hall, with everyone else. It was still a banquet for the King’s visit after all. Yet the man had brought food and wine, luxury wine as he recalled from the rich, silky feel on his tongue, rather than the diluted sour wine which he was usually given in such occasions. The Mountain must have noticed Jon’s absence from the banquet, hence his jest about small men needing their food. Jon didn’t know what to make of it that the giant, brutal beast of a man now embracing him had given himself the trouble of seeing to it that Jon had something to eat. He felt a weird sensation fill his chest, and had to swallow the thick lump forming in his throat._

_“Ser Gregor? Thank you for the meal!”_

_Jon stammered out, hoping to not sound too emotional. The last thing he wanted was to sound like a simpering idiot to the brutal man. He was not such touchy feeling thing! The man behind him groaned noncommittally, shifting his weight heavily before settling closer to Jon, his arms pressing Jon more firmly against his warm chest._

_“Didn’t want you to faint like a girl when I fucked you senseless.” He groaned lazily. “If I ever have to feed you again, it will be at my feet, like a dog.” He added in a gruff voice after a long pause._

_Jon smiled at the jest, but even more so at the comfortable feeling between the two of them. He closed his eyes again, intending to go to sleep and not bother the impressive man anymore. He was not pushing his luck any longer. But something else came to his mind, and made him try himself against his fright of annoying the man._

_“I want to be your squire.”_

_He muttered, still not sure if he just wanted to voice it out loud, or if he wanted the man to hear him. By the way the arms around him tightened even more, and a low chuckle could be felt by the vibration of the man’s chest against Jon’s back, the man heard him._

_“Of course you want that Wolf bitch! That’s why I offered in the first place.”_

_With that the man pressed his hips more firmly against Jon’s rear, not minding that he was spreading some remnants of semen against Jon’s skin. Jon winced at the thought of how great a mess he would have to clean on the morrow. Yet he felt too boneless to even think about moving, so even less to go get some wet cloth to clean himself._

_In the end, he pressed himself even more firmly against the other man, and let himself drift to sleep._

 

Jon startles awake when he hears some men cry around him. In an instant he’s sitting on his covers, looking around with confusion at the chaos surrounding him. _What the hell…_ is the only thing he can think for a frozen moment, still too lost between his pleasant dreams, memory of the night he confessed to the Mountain that he wants to be with him, and the hard reality of men yelling and swords clashing together in a great cacophony. _Are we under attack? Who could it be? Wildlings?_

Then he feels his blood fire up with the rush of battle and his hand seizes his swords in the span of two heartbeats. He has to untangle himself from his sheets to get up, and then he looks around to gather from where the attackers are coming. _From everywhere his mind provides._ Most men of their small party are already falling to the ground, seemingly knocked down by rocks and slings. Jon looks down as the man just beside him falls at his feet, and that’s when he sees Ghost, calmly sitting while watching between the trees around them and Jon himself. He doesn’t have time to get confused over the tranquility of his familiar that he feels pain spread over his head, and everything goes black.

The last thing Jon hears before falling into unconsciousness is his uncle screaming his name.

* * * * * * 

Jon resurfaces to the regular feeling of being jostled up and down, again and again. His cheek is pressed against some rough leather, and rubs on it to the rhythm of his whole body being jostled up and down. A great net of drool leaks from his slacked mouth, but he’s still too groggy to do anything about it, or even to feel embarrassed. Then the pain in his head makes itself known, and he groans out loud, wincing under the feeling of having his head hammered repeatedly, to the rhythm of the jostling. He hears a low chuckle above him, then feels a hand prod his temple, recoiling only when Jon whines at the sudden contact of the wound there. 

“Seems like our little princess is awake!”

A loud, rough voice exclaims above him. Jon looks up, or tries to before his eyes close on their own because of the light blinding them. It takes a few tries for him to be able to keep them open under the onslaught of the midday light. And when he finally does manage to look up at the man who has talked, the one who has caused various laughs to bloom around Jon in a cacophony that his ears have trouble hearing due to the pain in his head, it’s only to close them again in dejection. A tall man, with dark hairs and a scar on his jaw. The Luke man, of course. 

The man laughs at Jon’s gloom reaction, his chest vibrating under Jon’s cheek and his voice echoing in a painful way in Jon’s ears. _Hell_ , is the only thought he manages to express as he recognises the rough man who has rudely led him to the Mountain that night about one week ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you find any mistake, in whatever way, please feel free to tell me!  
> I'm also open to critics and even suggestions


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3 

Jon blearily opens his eyes when he feels himself being moved. This time the light of mid-afternoon is less assaulting to his eyes, even though he wishes to be under the cover of a forest treetop rather than along the road, under the naked sky. Thankfully, the group has stopped near a few trees growing alongside the road, He barely has time to notice that the jostling of the running horses have stopped, when the arm securing him against a man’s strong chest pushes him down in the waiting arms of a man down the horse. The waiting man is fast to maneuver Jon over his shoulder, like a bag of grains, much to Jon’s head disagreement. The hammering pain, dulled to a low throbbing since the horse has come to a halt, comes back full force when a rush of blood invades Jon’s head, and he cannot refrain a pained groan from escaping his throat. His torment only last for the time it takes his holder to walk a dozen steps and sit Jon on a fallen tree, his whole limp body supported by the same man sitting down beside him and wrapping an arm around his shoulders to keep Jon upright against him.

For the first time since waking up in the arms of the Luke man, Jon can have a look at the other men constituting the group of his kidnappers. Most men seem to be rough warriors, taking care of the horses and setting up a brief camp for a meal in brusque, coarse manners. Jon would be frightened to be around most of them, if not for the fact that he knew the men were the Mountain’s ones. Their armor are covered in mud or in dirt to cover their sigils, but if the Luke man leading them is any indication, they’re still the Mountain’s men, probably there to get Jon back to their lord. Jon is still so stunned by it that he doesn’t know how to feel about this whole situation.

A man sits on the other side of Jon, before grasping his chin and turning his head toward himself, his moves more efficient and rough than gentle. The pain has receded some since Jon is sitting on a steady surface, yet the throbbing of his head comes back at the brutal moves. For a brief moment the man looks in Jon’s eyes, before angling his head this way and that way to assess the damage to Jon’s head. After a while he hums to himself, eyes set in a frown. He releases Jon’s head just long enough for him to gather a cloth and wet it with some water from the skin tied to his belt, before seizing Jon’s head again. Even though Jon stills himself the moment he realizes where the man is going to put the wet clothe, he still gasps from the shock, and shivers violently under the freezing touch over the wound on his head, until the man holding him has to secure Jon more tightly against himself to prevent him from escaping the glacial water.

“Don’t be such a whining girl!”

The man with the wet cloth says, much to the amusement of the one holding Jon. Jon glares at them both from the corner of his eyes, but stills himself and let the man with the cloth clean his wound, much to Jon’s annoyance. Once he can have a clear sight, the man prods at the wound and its surrounding, making Jon wince and frown from the pain. 

“So how’s he?” 

Says a gruff voice, not too far from them. Jon turns his head to peer at the man talking, and barely has time to recognize the Luke man that the man with the cloth turns Jon’s chin back to the way it was, wound fully accessible to the man.

“Well, Tyt is lucky. He didn’t kill the boy, or caused him harm. But he’s still a bit stunned. He should be good and on his feet soon enough though.”

With that the nursing man grabs his water skin and presses the tip of it to Jon’s lips, who drink gratefully from it. Hell, it’s only when water moistens it that Jon realizes how parched his throat was before. He relaxes in the silent man’s grip, accepting the water gratefully. Yet his mind is in turmoil. The man assessing his wound barely has time to release Jon that Jon’s mouth opens and a deluge of questions rushes out of Jon’s mouth.

“Who are you all? Where are we? And where are we going? What of the Nigthwatch’s men? Are they still alive? My uncle? What happened? Why did you…”

“Ow, slow down princess.” 

“Don’t you _fucking_ dare call me a princess.”

Jon retorts back in a heartbeat, definitely not long enough to think clearly of his wounded and weakened state, nor the fact that he’s totally alone against about twenty seasoned men, all well-armed and more muscled than him. Everything seems to freeze around him for a few instants. Every man has stopped talking or moving, their action, or words, suspended to look at Jon in bewilderment. Jon keeps glaring at Luke man, chin raised in challenge, while his shoulders start to hunch slightly from intimidation. The man looks at him with wide eyes, and his mouth shaped in a small “o” of surprise. 

Then the moment ends. A loud laugh escapes from Luke man, soon followed by everybody else, much to Jon’s shame. Even the man holding him chuckles with mirth, the vibrations of his body alongside Jon making him shake too. Jon pouts sullenly, and feels his whole body tense over the need to hunch on himself and hide himself from the other men’s view. But he resists these urges, and keeps glaring at the same man, ignoring the taunts from others that “the wolf princess sure has some bite in her” or “The wolf princess still needs to be tamed!”

“I can call you Bitch if you like it better, princess!” The Luke man says, his tone jesting, his eyes hard.

A flash of white interrupts Jon’s outraged answer, and he feels relief pour through him as he recognizes Ghost, his direwolf pup. A pang of guilt pierces his heart right away. Hell, he has not even bothered to check where the pet was since waking up. Although he never felt worried that the wolf was anywhere but nearby. Ghost groans silently, teeth flashing with red from his recent game, eyes glowing like burning rubies. 

The jeers stop as abruptly as they have started at the sight of the ferocious albino wolf. Even the Luke man, who seemed to have a jape ready on the tip of his tongue, shuts down and glares at the wolf.

“Or you can call me Jon, seeing as it’s my name after all!” 

Jon says firmly, his stomach fluttering as if a dozen toads found their way there and are now jumping all around like crazy. Yet he keeps his chin up, and glares at every men around him, who are all glaring between Jon and his wolf with something like unease for some, and surprise for others. 

“Oh, for gods’ sake, calm down! And call back your bloody pup! ‘Don’t fancy having to explain to our lord how any of us got hurt so stupidly!” Luke said in a dejected groan. “ Ed, is the food coming soon? I want us back on the road in less time than you use to take a shit!” He adds in a bark to the man who’s stirring the pot of steaming broth. 

Soon enough, more and more of the gathering men find themselves with bowls of steaming broth in hands, most of them eating it while standing, while some lucky ones eat seated on the few scattered rocks large enough to use as a seat. The man sitting on the fallen tree with Jon goes get his own bowl, and gathers Jon’s one in the same time. It’s only when Jon finds himself with food in his hands that he allows himself to relax some and enjoy the sensation of warm, salty food filling his hungry stomach. Out of habit, he still gives a piece of his meat to Ghost, who is now laying calmly at his feet, cleaning the blood on his face with his paws after having licked them. That he has already eaten doesn’t change the fact that Jon wants to spoil his familiar some, much to Ghost’ enjoyment, who licks his lips and rubs his head on Jon’s leg after having eaten his gift.

There is no more talk while the men eat, but for some whispered words here and there. It’s as if the Luke man’s order to hurry has quieted down the companionable mood of before, and everyone just eat and go through the motion. Soon enough the food is finished, men are cleaning the bowls and the cookpot, and then preparing the horses to get back on their ride. Jon notices that there is a spare horse for every man there, on which the lightest package are attached. He assumes it’s their way of insuring that wherever they go, they will cover the distance fast, and always on more or less fresh mounds.  
¸  
When the time to get back on the road comes, Jon is not surprised to be led to the Luke man’s horse again. He wants to argue, but a glare of the rough man shuts him down. He accepts sulkily the help of the man who sat on the log with him and gets in front of the leader man, who wraps his free hand around his waist, much to Jon’s displeasure. Jon waits only long enough for the party to depart their dinning spot and cover the distance of what he estimates is a half a mile, before repeating the questions which burns his tongue since he has woken up against the man with whom he’s riding.

“Will you answer my questions now?”

He asks, hoping he didn’t sound as needy or young as he seemed to his own ears. The man sighs behind him, then there’s a long silence behind Jon, so long that he starts fearing he won’t be answered.

“I assume you can gather by now who we are? If you can’t figure that one out, then I’m worried for your wit boy!” He finally says behind Jon, who does not even bother to answer to such low comment. “Well, Ser Gregor instructed me that you want to go with him. And so does he. So he told me to take a few men and come get you for him.”

“So you just rode North with your twenty men with each a spare horse without anyone asking questions?” Jon asks in disbelief. Hell, it would not bode well for the North’s security if such a thing could happen with nobody thinking anything out of it.

“Of course not. He sent half of his men riding south the day before the king left Winterfell, as did most of the men following the King. Do you really think the Queen and the King would want to ride stuck in the middle of a crowd of their entourage? They sent half of it to precede them and prepare their future camping, so that they can arrive and everything is ready for them. And the camp remains safe with a part of the armored men guarding it.”

“Ser Gregor made sure we were the last ones to leave Winterfell that day, and went slow about preparing our stuff and everything, so that we would leave as close to nightfall as possible. People thought we were crazy to leave while the sky was losing its last light, but we’re the Mountain’s men, we’re not scared of riding at night. We rode half the distance far enough to be out of Winterfell, and waited nightfall to split our group and head West, into the cover of your Wolfswood, while the most of it kept going south to catch back the rest of the party. Ser Gregor told us to hide and wait in there long enough for the King’s party to leave Winterfell and head south. He told us he had learnt that the party going to the Nightwatch would leave in the same time. We rode through the woods, waiting nightfall again to leave it. We let you have some advance on us, so that we wouldn’t have to attack your group in the open, or in daytime. We were lucky that your uncle decided to break your camp in the woods near Longlake. It made it easier to sneak on you during nightfall.”

A feeling of foreboding has spread through Jon’s chest all through the man’s tale, so much that a painful lump is now formed in his chest, and he has trouble swallowing, or even breathing. He wants to know, can’t even wait to learn if his uncle, or the group having left Winterfell, still live. The Mountain is renowned for his savagery, and his lack of mercy. And so are his men! Yet he needs to know.

“Don’t fret so much boy! Ser Gregor told us that he didn’t want anything messy. We were to knock out everyone, or at least incapacitate them long enough to take you and go our merry way. Don’t forget that The Dwarf was in your group, and the last thing Ser Clegane wants is to have to explain why his men killed his son to Tywin Lannister, no matter how little he appreciates this one. You were so little men that it went easier than a fuck with a girl in a brothel. A few of my men got a few scratch here and there, just like some of the men of your group. But most of you went down like daisies once we started throwing rocks on slings your way. Tyt went a little bit hard on your head, but it made it so much easier to just pick you once most of the men were taken care of.”

Jon feels insulted by how the man explains the way he has been abducted by his men, like a fainted girl getting taken by worthier men. But it’s nothing compared to his relief that his uncle still lives. He couldn’t live with it if his tryst with the Mountain caused the death of his beloved uncle, a second father for him. 

“Word will get out that I was abducted. My uncle will send a crow to my brother Robb, who’ll send it to my father.” Jon states in a matter of fact way. Hell, thinking about their distress at his disappearance is starting to make his head throb in pain again. 

“Aye! But we took the horses. Your uncle must walk about three days either ways before getting anyone else informed. Long enough for us to get to White Harbour, where three of my men are already paying our passage on a ship, and be gone before the news get there. If all goes well, we should reach White Harbour in the early morning the day after tomorrow. And then we’ll get to King’s Landing, after which we will ride to Castlery Rock and the Clegane’s lands”

Jon gets overwhelmed by all this new situation. A fortnight ago, he would have laughed or scuffed at the idea of his life totally changing direction from the one he always thought he was meant to take. But then he met the Mountain, and slept with him; he shouldn’t crave for a life at the sides of the most brutal man in Westeros. He should have dreaded his offer to take Jon as his squire. Yet a great part of him aches to get back to the imposing man, feel his strong body against his own, and do the most outrageous things he can fathom. But just as his lust is great, so is his desire to see the world, to be acknowledged as a great warrior, to fight alongside greater warriors. He’s no dupe. He already heard tales of the cruelty of war, made even worst by men like the Mountain and his men. Still, since he heard that Ser Clegane deems him worthy of being his squire, Jon craves to show the man that his hopes are not misplaced. 

Yet, his chest is heavy with the guilt of causing so much anxiety to his father and siblings, and so many dishonors on the Stark name. His bastard status should alleviate the most of it, yet he hopes his stunt won’t prove to be too much of a blow to his family. 

Jon sees a flash of white running just beside their horse, and smiles at the sight of Ghost running alongside their horse. Whatever will happen to him, at least he still has his friend, the best mate he could ever wish for.

“He’s smart, you know. Your Pup. He sat calmly through all the fighting, at your sides, as if he knew we weren’t there to harm you. He let Burrich, the man who sat with you earlier, take you and place you on my horse without a groan. And he followed us meekly all along, like the best-trained dog ever. He only groans at Tyt, which is funny seeing as he’s the one who hit you with a rock.”

Jon finds himself appalled by the tale, impressed that his familiar is so acute to what is happening around Jon. It somehow makes him feel all the safer to know that his wolf has such great instincts as to know when to protect him from enemies, and even more who are his friends before he could even face them. 

* * * * * 

Luke is right about his approximation of the duration of their travelling. That first day Jon woke in his arms, the group rides for a few miles after night has settled before breaking camp for the night. By then, Jon is already so tired, even though he has done nothing straining all day long, that he just passes out the moment he’s lying on the ground, in borrowed sheets. 

He tries not to think about his few possessions, abandoned where they were during the abduction. They were mostly clothes, with a few books and some brooches or pendants; but they were his. Fortunately, Jon has kept his most precious possessions on himself. And he thanks his luck that the Mountain has kept his two sexual toys with him, telling Jon that they were his reminder of their time in Winterfell. Jon had blushed at these words, but still, he hadn’t found it in him to say no to the man when he told him so, after they had shared their last night at Winterfell. 

Jon still blushes at the reminder of how brutal the man was that night, fucking him so hard that Jon had trouble walking the next morning, and even now, after three days, is still a bit sore from it. Yet he remembers coming harder than ever before, the searing pain of the coupling rendered exquisite by the constant hammering of his most pleasurable spot inside him. 

Jon groans when he’s shaken awake, having the feeling of having barely closed his eyes before having to wake up. He is glad to see he’s not the only one groaning in protestation, many other older men seeming even more exhausted than him Yet the other men are already rising, even though the first rays of sunlight still haven’t shown themselves. Men gather their stuff while a man prepares a pot of porridge for everyone, and soon enough everyone are on the road, jon riding with Luke again. This time he protests, claiming that there are enough mounts that he can have his own horse. Beside, his additional weight would only tire down Luke’s horse faster than any other horse. But Luke tells him to stop whining and get on his mound, a fine warhorse which seems more than capable of running the distance with both their weight. Again, Burrich wordlessly lifts him and helps Luke get Jon on the horse, much to his annoyance. He hates the close proximity of the man on him. And he hates his arm wrapped around Jon’s waist. 

Yet it all comes to an advantage when the morning sun starts to shine over the horizon, and Jon’s eyes feel heavy with drowsiness. Having nothing else to do, he closes his eyes and allows himself some more sleep, if only to pass the time. He’s roused again from a dreamless sleep when they stop for a brief midday meal, that he eats standing and walking slowly around, if only to bring back some sensation to his sore legs. Ed, the makeshift cook, looks at him weirdly when Jon hands him his bowl after having rubbed it clean himself, and thanked him for the meal. His father always told Robb and him to show appreciation for other men efforts toward them, and he doesn’t see why he should do differently just because these men seem rougher. 

This time he doesn’t see the use in arguing around when the time comes for him to get back on Luke’s horse. Though he does brush off Burrich’s offer to help him get on the horse, and get on it himself with the hand of he’s rider. He spends his afternoon talking with Luke, asking him questions about the Clegane’s lands, their tower on Castlery Rock, as well as his people. Luke seems annoyed by his questions at first, but having nothing else to do so as to busy his mind as they keep riding south east to get to White Harbor, he does answers Jon’s questioned, if a bit reluctantly at first. 

He tells him about the towerhouse, Clegane’s keep, and how it is situated in the lands northwest from the Lannister Keep. The towerhouse itself has been built on the coast, making it attackable only from its western side, the land side. Ser Gregor’s grandfather had made good use of the gift Tytos Lannister had given him for having saved his life against a mountain lion. In the years he had owned the towerhouse and the surrounding grounds, he had expended what he came to call his keep, and solidified it, making it more of a defendable fort than a habitable household. The original twenty farms plowing the grounds had expended to sixty by the time the man died, and to a hundred by the time Gregor Clegane inherited it. The farmers had been encouraged not only to plow the grounds and produce more and more, but also to procreate more children than normally, so as to expend Clegane’s people, and man his troop more easily. Even if the Clegane ruled them harshly, and commanded the respect of their people through fear, it seemed that their people were prone to remain where they were, safer with the Clegane family than with others on Castlery Rock. 

Jon listens to all this with the utmost fascination, glad to hear different stories than what he would usually hear by his father or Maestre Luwin. Nothing in the man’s words shows violence and terrible dreads from the Clegane. Yet the man is not making any effort to embellish it either. He is born there, and is simply stating what he knows of it. After a while, they ride in a more companionable silence, the man tired of talking, and Jon feeling too drowsy again to properly pay attention to the man’s words. As they did the night before, Luke make their group keep riding for a few miles after the last ray of light has vanished under the horizon, and Jon is only too glad to get down from his horse, eat his meal in a tired hurry, then lay on the ground to sleep. 

Waking up is even harder than the morning before. But after a groan of protestation and battling the hand shaking him for the briefest moment, Jon does get out of his too short rest, eats his bowl of porridge, and gets back on Luke’s horse with no protestation. He’s only too glad to nap again against the man, not minding that sleeping upright while being jostled by a horse is not the most restful thing. 

The sun is barely over the horizon when they finally get in sight of White Harbour. Jon sighs in relief, knowing that soon enough, he will be down the horse, and free to walk on a boat’s deck. In the same time, he feels anticipation fill his chest at the prospect of getting on a boat for the first time, and then leaving the firm ground to get driven by water. 

Yet his relief comes with trepidation at the idea of leaving the North, his home, to travel south, on a ship, and with men he’s still not sure he trusts. Apart from Luke, he hasn’t talked much with anybody else, but for a few words of appreciation to Ed, the man who cooks most of their meal. The other men don’t talk to Jon, preferring to watch him quietly with baffled frown, or contemplative glare, or sometimes in a leery way. He feels more comfortable with the one barely looking at him, the ones who seem to not care about him at all but to insure he’s still with them, the person their lord has requested they get through all the trouble of abducting. Jon is glad none of them asked questions about the why of it. And he hopes nobody can guess the exact reason.

 

To not raise unnecessary questions, Luke has Jon ride his own horse for the few remaining miles before they reach the gates to White Harbour. It’s a relief to finally be able to sit on his own, without having an arm draped around his waist and his back stuck against another man’s chest. Yet Luke doesn’t miss a chance to look at him in a way which promises trouble if it comes to Jon’s mind to abuse this necessary privilege

Ghost is not in sight when they reach the entrance of White Harbour, the town surrounding the port. It wouldn’t do for the men there to guess from the appearance of his familiar that he’s a Stark, even a bastard one. It would raise too many questions. Although it has Jon all concerned and feeling uneasy that he doesn’t know where Ghost is. He wasn’t there when Jon woke up, most probably hunting some game. He can only hope that the wolf pup will follow their trail, and find a way to find them in town. Unless he does not find them, or gets there too late to board ship with them? His heart clenches so painfully at such a prospect that Jon soon feel on the verge of throwing up from anxiety.

Guards are at the fence, a wooden wall surrounding the whole town and insuring the monitoring of who comes in and out of the town. When asked by one of the guard stationed there who they are and why they need passage in White Harbour, Jon gets concerned for one instant. But Luke simply states that they are Ser Gregor Clegane’s men, sent to take ship so as to make an errand in Kings Landing for the man. His Rough tone of voice is enough to make one half of the guards swallow with unease, and the other half look down intimidated. Not long later, the group has passed the gates and they’re riding into White Harbour.

Jon looks back between the intimidated guards and Luke in awe, totally impressed by what just happened. When Luke looks at him, his grave frown turn into a smug sneer, and he exclaims with mirth.

“That’s one of the perks of being one of the Mountain’s men. People tend to not want to mess with the man, and somehow the effect is spread to his men. I rarely have to explain anything, as long as I say I’m one of his men, people let me go where I want.”

Jon can only nod in agreement, a small grin on his lips. Maybe one day he could command such authority himself. It would be nice if he could get by, no question asked, only by declining his association to the Mountain.

It takes about an hour before their group reach the port. Jon has already seen it once in his life, about five years ago. He remembers how Robb and him had been eleven then, still so enthusiast and so eager of their first trip away from home. Lord Stark had paid a visit to Lord Manderly, and had decided to bring Robb with him to get him acquainted to his future Lord’s tasks. Jon had been there only to keep Robb company. Yet the experience had still been impressing. And still is today, as he takes in the sight of the widest river near which he has ever been, surrounded by tree covered hills. The port is wide enough that about twenty ships could board on the quay they’re standing on, and another, half a mile from that one, has another twenty warships attached to it. 

Jon hears snickers around him, and lowers his wide eyes on his left side, where the rest of the men are either looking at him with mirth and snickers, or with understanding. He realises that his mouth is still opened, and closes it with a loud clang.

“You’ve never seen Kings Landing boy. There, you would have a reason to have your jaws go slack and your eyes wide as a maiden.” One burly man not far from him jests.

“Cut him some slack, Joar. You’ve been as innocent and clueless than him when you were younger. Years and years, and years ago.” Another man says, taunting the first one.

Jon blushes in shame, self-conscious about how easily impressed he’s acting at the sight of the port. He decides to look away from the water, and the ships, some tall and looming over him in an impressive way, while some are only half their size. Rather, he searches for Luke, hoping that the man is not too far, for some reason he cannot gather. The man is ahead of the group, talking in hushed tones with three new men. 

They talk for a while, then the men lead the group to one of the last ship, a tall one with some sea serpent on the front, and the fading letters “Sea Bitch” on the side. Jon can only curse under his breath at such a displeasing jape. Yet Luke is already talking to a bulky man in his forties, with mustaches long enough to reach his beard, once the color of straw, but now turning white. Jon gets closer, until he’s close enough to hear the discussion, but is interrupted by a flash of white before he can hear more than some negotiating prices for all the men and their own horse. He looks down, and feels relief pour through him at the sight of Ghost, looking at him happily from down the horse feet. He doesn’t care one bit about how he looks now. He jumps down from his horse to give a well-felt hug to his wolf

“Where have you been pal? You had me worried about you!” He exclaims quietly, mouth in his fur.

“That thing is not coming on ma ship!” A man exclaims loudly near Jon, his speech slurred. The captain, of course.

Jon feels his heart stricken by such an announcement. He freezes on the spot, not knowing what to do or what to say,

“Oh come on, man. Let the boy bring his pet along!” Luke says, a funny expression struck on his face between indulgence, negotiating and grave. 

“I won’t have a messy mutt wracking havoc on ma ship, no matter how good the coins.” The man says, looking at Ghost in contempt

“Ghost is no messy mutt. He’s well trained, clean and won’t be any annoyance to anyone on your ship.” Jon interjects with hope. He won’t be split from Ghost. No way.

“He’s a wolf! A wolf! How can that thing be well-trained, or even tamed for that matter?” The captain asks with incredulity, still looking at Ghost as if it was a rabid dog rather than a clean wolf.

“The wolf pup is a special addition to Ser Gregor Clegane’s kennels.” Luke says with a tone which leads to no argument. “Just as is the boy, for that matter!” He adds in a jeer. “They’re both coming, or I wouldn’t be on the Mountain’s path when he learns he has lost his two exotic novelties. 

Jon gapes in outrage as sneers rise around him. But the captain frowns in dissatisfaction, obviously reluctant at the prospect of adding Ghost to his passengers.

“No more than a horse for each of you. Get rid of the spares. Every man works for his food on ma Bitch. So does the boy. Double for his mutt. If the beast causes any trouble, he gets hauled at the bottom of the sea, or in ma crew’s stomach. And I still want the first price I offered you.” The man says while looking at them all, then at Luke. 

Luke still talks to the captain in ushered tones, no doubt still negotiating the price of their passage. But Jon doesn’t listen to him anymore. He simply hugs Ghost to him, relieved as hell that he won’t be split with his familiar. And glad to hide his blushing face against his wolf’s fur. Seriously, what was the matter with the Luke man to imply that Jon was the Mountain’s new pet? Has he no sense whatsoever of discretion?

When the negotiations finally come to an end, he’s only too glad to walk up the makeshift stairs leading up to the deck of the boat. He does feel a little bit lost though when he finally gets on the deck, and peers around at stranger men busying themselves all around the boat, some tying cordages, while some other moves boxes and containers. He’s fast to feel awkward standing in the middle of the deck, with nothing else to do but look around and avoid the curious, or amused look of the crew members. 

He wouldn’t believe it himself, but it’s a relief when Luke comes from behind him and grab his shoulder.

“Come with me Wolf boy!” 

Jon pushes aside his despise of the man’s rough words toward him to instead follow the man. Who leads him to a stair leading below the deck, to a small cramped hall with numerous doors on each sides. Luke opens one, the second on the left side, and precedes Jon in a small, even more cramped room, in which two even more cramped beds have been built on each sides of the room. Jon is sure that the space between the two beds is even smaller than the length of his two extended arms together. Two small chests are nailed to the floor, at the foot of the beds and a narrow desk occupy the small remaining room alongside the hall. Jon is glad to notice a window over it, from which some fresh air can get in. Some nails on the walls over the bed and on their side of the door allow them the possibility to hang coats, cloak, weapons and small items from there. The overall effect is _really_ cramped. 

Luke throws his baggage on the bed on the right, so Jon is left with no choice about his side of the room. He would throw his baggage on his side too, but then remembers that he has nothing but his clothes and what he had on himself when he was taken. He still thanks his luck that the cold weather had made him sleep with all his layers of clothes, and that he still has most of his most precious possessions. 

“I take this side. Your wolf can sleep with you, or under the desk for what I care. And don’t act like a pouty lord son. My men are sleeping by four, in even less friendly rooms. And the ship crew will sleep tight on each other. So you’re lucky.” He says in an admonishing tone.

Jon looks at him with a frown. “I wouldn’t have complained. I already understand that it’s a ship. Resources are more limited for transport. Besides, I was taught to take what I’m given with no complain, and to be grateful of what a host gives me, no matter how little it is!” 

He says, his voice gaining in confidence the more and more he talks. What right has the man to teach him how to behave, when he’s sure he received an even better education than him?

“Good to know boy. Then I’m sure we won’t have any trouble because of your poutiness!” The man says with cheek, glaring at Jon before raising from his bed.

“The ship will leave the port in one hour. If you want to rest and settle yourself, do it now. The captain will certainly not forget to make you work for accepting the wolf on board.” 

With that, the man opens the door and leaves the room, and a seething Jon. What right has the man to believe that Jon would act like a spoiled lordling? He’s not even complained once about anything during their two days hard riding. Not even an extra blanket, or more water than what was given to him or anything. Hell, he lost everything but what he has on his own person, and it kind of crashes on him now that he’s not even sure of his future once he get back to the Mountain. Will he be only his whore, his bitch that he can take whenever he likes and throw back in a dark corner when he does not wish his company anymore? Or will he be treated with more respect, what with him being a squire.

Ghost hops on the bed, and rubs his nose on Jon’s side, before laying on his front, head on his lap. Jon rubs him half-mindedly, enjoying the feel of the soft, clean fur between his fingers. Later, when a man of the crew knocks on the door to tell him that the ship is leaving, and that his presence is required on the deck, Jon feels totally appeased. 

He’s quite awkward around the deck at first, confused about the names and the use of the various parts of a ship. Yet once well-explained to him, he’s fast to do the job indicated to him, and finds himself quite glad of the diversion offered by working out on making the ship move. He sees that some of the Mountain’s men already know what to do when asked to do some task. Yet Jon is glad to see that apart from them, most of the other men have more trouble than him getting their tasks done. 

After a meal of salty fish, that Jon enjoys greatly seeing how rarely he gets to eat fish, he walks the small walkway to his rooms, where he’s puzzled to find some clothes waiting for him on his bed. They are larger, rougher, and more common than his own. But they are fresh. He notices that he has enough of them to wear one set one day, while the other dries after having been cleansed. 

“I sent my men to buy you some clothes with some of the extra money of selling the horse. Didn’t want to be deprived of sleep from the smell!”

Luke jests as he enters the room behind Jon. And then sits on his bed. Jon can smell alcohol on the man’s breath, and wonders at if the man is actually drunk. 

“Well, Thank you.” Jon says, not sure of what to say at such a generous yet selfish gift.

The man sneers, then digs a package from his own bag, that he extends toward Jon. Now Jon feels really uneasy, like the man is giving him gifts while he shouldn't. He can feel through the cloth bag that there’s a box in there, and somewhat imposing, and weighty. 

“Well, open it up boy! It’s gifts from the Mountain. He had it commissioned for you. He even made me promise to make sure you use it.” He insists, a cocky smile on his lips, not unlike the one of Theon Greyjoy. Yet there’s something in his eyes, and Jon has the feeling that the man transpires uneasiness under his japing facade.

Jon is curious as to what the Mountain has sent for him. The imposing knight is not the kind of man he can picture sending gifts and presents of jewelry or luxuries to anyone, so Jon is quite lost as to what to expect from a present sent from the man. He opens the box, only to see a piece of parchment cover its content. Breathless, Jon swallows the thick lump in his throat as the words sink in him like burnt by a hot iron. Then he takes in sight the content of the box, and his heart skips a few beats and he can feel himself shake while a warm sensation starts to fill his groin, much to his annoyance

“Fuck!”

The word has left Jon’s mouth before he can even think about shutting it.

“Indeed.” Luke answers, looking at anything but Jon, which can’t be much seeing how little there is in the room.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_Jon came back to himself feeling confused, his mind awfully fuzzy and heavy with the weight of exhaustion. His body was still feeling lax and positively throbbing from the alcohol and the bliss of his previous orgasm. He groaned lazily, a content smile on his lips, as he sunk his head deeper in his pillow, intent to get back to sleep. But just before he did just that, the realisation of what had woken him hit him._

_His eyes fluttered open and he peered down at where his legs were spread widely opened, his hips raised to rest over the Mountain’s crossed legs. This positioning was not what had him the most confused though. That would be the feeling of having his male parts being manhandled by the gigantic hands of the Mountain, fingers pressed against his groin as his flaccid manhood was held alongside them. From time to time, he could also feel his sack being lifted and weighted, probed before being grasped and held loosely at its base. Even more confusing was the air of total concentration on the beasty man’s face as he was looking with intent eyes at where his fingers were meddling with Jon’s part, his eyes narrowed as if he was trying to piece out some unknown puzzle there._

_“Something I can help you with?” Jon asked blearily, his voice slurred from sleep._

_If not for how exhausted he felt, Jon would have been amused by the brief look of having been caught red hand on the gigantic man’s face. The man’s eyes ran up to Jon’s face to confirm that he was well and truly awake, before getting back down to where they were examining Jon before. In not time the man had recomposed himself, and was back to prodding Jon shamelessly, and with an assertive touch. Hell, even though he was dead tired and feeling quite sated, Jon could feel the beginning of arousal warm his groin again._

_“Go back to sleep, young wolf!” The man groaned without looking at Jon._

_Jon huffed a laugh, then rubbed his burning lids._

_“While you keep playing with my privates? Can’t see that happening!” Jon groaned in answer._

_He groaned again a few heartbeats later, this time with pleasure, when he felt the head of his manhood being pressed between a thumb and a forefinger, the sensation there enough to have his blood flood with lust again. It took absolutely no time before he could feel blood start to pour in his manhood, making his soft organ swell and thicken in the Mountain’s hand. Jon tried to quell it and fight his body’s response to the man’s firm ministrations, but if felt like trying to stop a stream barehanded. The sight of the imposing man, and his thick, hard muscles all above Jon, as well as the strong smell of their recent coupling soon overwhelmed Jon and made need rise in him again._

_The man’s intent glare at his privates soon transformed into some kind of frustrated incredulity, before taking a hint of exasperation._

_“We just fucked, boy! You can’t already want more!” The man said, one hand around his hard manhood, while the other grasped his balls in a firm hold, making Jon pant in a mix of anticipation and desire._

_Eyes filled with lust, Jon nodded, then wriggled his hips lasciviously in the man’s hold, thrusting his erection in the man’s fist by doing so. Hell, the hands were so big that it nearly covered Jon’s whole cock just by holding it. The huge hands holding him tightened their grasp on Jon’s most sensitive parts, making Jon tense all over in a mix of pain and pleasure._

_“You’re such a lustful thing, aren’t you boy!” Came the Mountain’s voice from over him._

_The man was looking at him in a warm, assertive way, mirroring the way his hands were now pleasuring him in a most possessive way. While one hand busied itself fisting his aching, rock-hard cock, the other one busied itself pulling on his bag, before stroking firmly his balls with the thumb. Jon kept bucking his hips, seeking more of the damned touch as small keening noises and moans poured out of his throat._

_“And you’re mine lustful bitch, isn’t it?” The man said in a tone which suggested that it was more an affirmation than a question._

_“Please!” Jon moaned, his whole body throbbing from the burning need building in his gut._

_He cried soundlessly and arched his back as if he was a bow when the hand on his cock squeezed the base of his leaking erection, while the other hand pulled on his balls mercilessly to move them away from his body. He looked in the eyes of the beasty man , feeling all small and vulnerable as his submitted body was offered to the man’s mercy._

_“Say it, bitch!” The Mountain groaned harshly, commanding._

_“Yours!” Jon managed to say through gritted teeth._

_He saw the man smile predatory at him, before the hand on his cock left it to grasp his chin, the thumb rubbing Jon’s lower lip in an owning way. One of the man’s brows arched in an inquisitive way, and Jon knew instinctively what to answer._

_“Yours” He said again, making the man’s smug smile widen._

_“Yours.” He said again when the same hand traveled down Jon’s throat to rest on his sternum. He wanted to lift it to encourage more caresses of the hand there, but the hand on his balls immobilised him totally._

_“Yours.” He repeated as the hand traveled down to his navel, and a finger stopped there to prod teasingly at the small hollow of his belly button. “Yours” He said again when the hand stopped on the mound of pubic hair just over his erected, leaking cock. Oh please, get back there, he prayed to any deity who could hear him. But the hand skipped his aching member and went over his ankle. He keened in frustration, only to hear chuckles in answer._

_“Yours, yours, yours” He kept gasping, nearly delirious with need and lust as he felt the hand roam over his body, testing the grounds as if to mark it. His body jerked violently when the tip of thick fingers rubbed at his still sore, leaking entrance, and Jon could not prevent his voice from crying an octave higher “Yours”_

_“Oh yes, bitch, all mine!”_

_The big man said as his hand came back to Jon’s throbbing manhood. Jon gasped and tensed right away, fisting the sheets as tightly as if his life depended on it._

_“All mine to take whenever I wish!” was accompanied with a firm thrust on his impossibly hard erection._

_Jon gasped a “Yes” then moaned._

_“All mine to fill whenever I wish!” The man said with another strong stroke on his cock._

_“Yes!” Jon whined in earnest. His eyes were riveted on the imposing man, watching between his hard, warm eyes, his predatory smile and down his strong harm to where his cock vanished in the strong fist, the red head of his manhood perceivable from time to time._

_“All mine to make you come whenever I wish!” The man said, pulling down on his erection one last time as he squeezed his balls just on the verge of hurting him._

_Jon came on the spot, body arching and tensing over like never before, as he groaned a guttural “YES!”, and came in thick spurts all over his stomach._

_Then his body gave out and Jon fell back, feeling so heavy with exhaustion and satiation that he could not muster anymore the force to move an inch, or open up his lids. He couldn’t be sure if he dreamt, or imagined the sensation of a warm liquid being splashed on his belly a few heartbeats later, neither was he sure of the sensation of a wet cloth rubbing him clean afterward. But he was sure he fell back asleep while the man was still manhandling him and his male parts._

* * * * * 

“Okay Lad, better get it done with before next morning!” Luke says in a voice which shows how he’s dreading what is coming next as much as Jon does.

It’s the first words spoken in a long while. Jon doesn’t know how long the man has let him to gather himself, or prepare himself to go through this new ordeal, but it must be a while seeing as the sunset sky has become pitch black outside the small window to the cabin they share. If not for the candle that Jon had the thought to lit when he entered it, the room would be pitch black by now. He looks back at the few objects contained in the wooden box in his hands. The reflection of fire over metal mesmerizes him.

“What if I refuse?” He asks hoarsely, a lump in his throat making it hard to talk. He feels numb by the shock of understanding what is in the box for him, yet his body is starting to tense up and shiver from a weird mix of anguish, anger and to his shame, something which has his gut tense and warm up in a way he doesn’t want to acknowledge.

Luke snorts derisively, his eyes now looking straight at him in a challenging way.

“Then I would ask the help of my fellow men to hold you down, strip you naked and make use of what’s in the box for you. Right now, only I know about you and the Mountain. And his… gifts for you. Resist and everyone will be in the known.” The man says in a matter of fact tone, his scary frown on place.

Jon swallows again, before looking down at the content of the box on his knees. There is a jar of grease in one of the corner, big enough that Jon is sure he won’t have trouble with lubricant for the rest of his travel to Castlery Rock and the Clegane’s lands. Beside it, there are four devices of the same design in various sizes, all made of a wood so well polished and varnished with oil that it shines, and is totally smooth to the touch. They are shaped like the phalluses he has used in Winterfell, but with a thinner end, and a flared base so that the muscle of his entrance would catch on it and block it from entering entirely in him, thin enough to keep him open without stretching his entrance too much. The Mountain definitely found a way to plug him. The smaller one of them is the ridiculous size of his middle finger. Then there is the one of the size of two fingers put together. The third one is longer, and maybe as thick as three fingers put together. As for the fourth one, longer and thicker, there is no comparison for it, only that it would spread him opened and keep him so in the most tormenting way. Jon salivates even though he feels sick from the shame of having to bear through this.

But what holds the most his attention is the smaller, more refined work of metal set aside in the box. The contraption, made of five rings bound together by four strips of metal running through them, cannot be evoked as anything else than a small and curved tubular cage, another ring at the base set aside for some purpose he can’t figure. Seeing as the inside of the rings are padded with well-oiled leather, it’s obvious that the contraption is meant to be worn on skin, And Jon can only think of one part of him sized for the contraption. The memory of a night when Ser Gregor sat cross-legged on his bed, Jon’s hips on his laps as his own legs had been spread wide opened and the Mountain had been examining his male parts has Jon blushing as it dawns on him that the beasty man had been measuring him for this special contraption. 

Jon feels sick as his body feels both burning hot from the shaming arousal of such a owning gesture, yet cold with dread at the humiliating act he will have to endure until he meet back with the man.

The words the man wrote on the parchment found in the box comes back to Jon’s mind as a taunting, yet so possessive promise:

**“Don’t forget that you are mine to do with as I wish, lustful wolf bitch. Only mine”**

Jon can’t look up for the sake of his life as he swallows yet again, and then talks in a voice he hopes doesn’t seem as small and miserable as he feels himself.

“And how do we do this?” 

It takes some time for the man to answer him, and Jon finally looks up, only to see that Luke is looking at the box with nearly as much unease as Jon himself, a pensive look on his face. After a while he does start to talk though.

“I take for granted you’ll be fine with the plugs?” He asks more in confirmation of what they both know than in question. 

Jon blushes and looks down, but nods. Of course he would have no problem filling himself with the wooden toys. The man may not know the full extent of it, but Jon is more than used to playing with this part of himself, and that, since even before the Mountain came into his life. Although it will definitely be different to be filled at all time, even as he walks, sits, sleeps or whatever else.

“Then I’ll let you take care of that on your own. As long as you respect Ser Gregor’s wish to wear one of them at all time, and to be used to the bigger one by the time he sees you again, I’ll let you on your own. But if I check at one point, and you’re not wearing anything, I’ll make sure you don’t transgress again.” 

This last part is said so gravely, and with such a threatening frown that Jon doesn’t doubt one bit that the man would have his hide if he ever breach his trust. 

“It won’t be a problem.” Jon says shakily

As if lured by magic, his eyes find the metal cage again, the gleaming reflection of fire on the shining metal dancing in an hypnotising way. He peers at the larger and thicker upper ring, and how it’s tucked closed by a lock to the second one, which is the upper one to the cage itself. He shudders at the thought of what it implies. 

“I assume I have to help you with that one, right?” The man asks, showing how reluctant he is to do it.

Jon isn’t sure if it’s a relief or not that the man shows how uneasy the whole situation makes him. He wouldn’t want him to take advantage of him, or enjoy too much his degradation. But Jon feels even more the shame of his situation as the man seems reluctant to take place in his Lord’s affair with Jon. Jon has no doubt that it’s not a question of honour though. Had he been a girl, he is sure the man would have been more than glad to lend a hand.

“Come on princess, let’s do it and be done with it.” The man snaps with some impatience.

Jon hesitates barely a few heartbeats, just the time for the man to hurry him up with a click of his tongue, before he obligingly picks the cage from the box. He puts it on his knees, not sure of what to do with it, more so seeing as he sees no key to open the lock between the base ring and the cage itself.

A hand snatches the contraption from his lap, and Jon peers at Luke as he grasps from under the collar of his shirt a cord lying around his neck, on which hangs a small key. 

“Open up your breeches and come stand in front of me.” The man says as he turns the key in the lock and opens it, opening the cage from its base. 

Jon stands on shaky legs, blushing so much that he feels heat suffocate him, and loosens the laces on his breeches to free himself. Fortunately, Luke seems to be in as much a hurry to get it done with that he loses no time into using the cage designed for his manhood. 

Jon gasps as the man grasps his scrotum, and then inserts it in the bigger ring, one ball at the time so as to not hurt him. The touch, although perfunctory, still has Jon gasping and flinching, but he remains still. Then his flaccid manhood is grabbed too, and Jon flinches again as it’s fit in the same ring as his balls, pressing him snuggly at the base of both his cock and his balls without it becoming painful. After which Jon bears through the man taking his manhood and slipping it through the cage itself, the curve of it bending his member downward in its snug restraint. 

As the lock clicks in place with a sharp metallic sound, Jon gasps and shudders. It’s done. There is no going back now. Until the moment he will see Ser Gregor again, his manhood will remain trapped in its cage, useless and unsatisfied. The urge to touch himself there, to grab his member through its cage is strong. Even more so is the urge to get back the key and unlock himself. But Jon knows better. It’s now pointless.

In the end, he simply grabs the waistband of his breeches, and puts them back in place, after which he laces himself, not desirous to show himself in such a vulnerable state more than necessary. While he does so, he watches as Luke put back the cord on which the key hangs around his neck, and then under his tunic. 

Jon winces, feeling a sudden panic rise in him. What if the man loses it? How will Jon get out of the cage if the man loses the key to the lock. What if there is no way to get him out of it without the key? He does not even want to imagine a blacksmith approaching his very fragile man parts with pliers and clamps. Jon suddenly envisions himself as an aging man, forever trapped in the metal contraption the Mountain has designed for him. 

“You take care of the damned key, clear! If you lose it, I swear I’ll rip you apart and kill you in the most agonizing way.” Jon growls through gritted teeth as his eyes focus on Luke’s dark ones.

The man seems outraged by such an outburst at first. But then, to Jon’s surprise and irritation, the man throws his head backward and laughs wholeheartedly. So much that he even puts his hands on his ribs as he keeps laughing. As he keep going on, Jon’s irritation transforms into powerless rage, then shame creeps back on him.

“For someone who just let me put a cage on his man parts, and all meekly at that, you sure have some bite, young wolf.” The man exclaims between two chuckles, eyes shining with mirth.

Jon clenches his fists at his sides, his whole body shivering in a mix of shame, rage and outrage. 

“Don’t worry lad. Ser Gregor will do worst to me if anything happens that damages you. And I’ve seen firsthand what he can do. That’s a worst threat than anything you could do to me. I won’t lose that damned key!”

Jon sighs in relief.

“Now it’s time you get the other part done. I’ll go have some drink. Be done before I’m back!” 

Luke says as he rises hurriedly from his bed, bumping roughly into Jon before opening the door to their cabin and heading out. Jon hears his footsteps vanish into the distance, and feels thankful that apart from the outburst of laugh from Luke, they kept their voices mostly low. With all the hassle of finding out what was in the box for him, Jon totally forgot that other men could be in their cabins, and that they are all so crammed and closed by, that it wouldn’t be so hard to eavesdrop on them. And what shameful things to eavesdrop on. 

Jon doesn’t dwell on it much though. The last thing he wants is for Luke to come back before Jon is finished with the plugs. That would be way too much for what he could bear in one evening.

He’s used to take some time for himself before inserting anything in his backside, Normally he would stroke himself some, make himself hard and wait to be totally desperate for something to fill his needy hole before getting anything near it. But tonight Jon wastes no time touching himself. Just the thought of what he will do soon has him aroused some bit, and his member strains against its restraint.

He picks the smaller one of the plugs, before grabbing the pot of grease. He wastes no time in getting rid of his breeches, before propelling himself on all four over his bed. He dips a finger in the grease, and takes a thick glob of the substance before covering the small toy. It feels ridiculous to think that he will be filled all night and probably all day tomorrow by such an innocuous small thing. He feels the warmth in his loins burn even more at such a notion of moving around with the equivalent of a finger trapped in him at all time. 

He swallows, and feeling feverish from the most intense blush he has ever experienced, Jon approaches the small plug from his waiting orifice. The smallest contact there sends him reeling, and Jon gasps as he slowly breaches himself on the benign toy. The tip gets in as in butter, and it’s actually so well-greased that the whole of it follows in in no time. Jon gasps again, and feels his eyes go wide as his most intimate walls closes on the small intruder, trapping it there and sending waves of pure pleasure through his whole body. 

But his pleasure soon turns into painful torment as his manhood tries to get hard, blood pouring into it like lava, only to be confined and forced down by the cage. He curses, and whines before biting down his wrist to muffle down his sounds of distress.

On his cushion under the desk, Ghost whines in echo to Jon’s own misery before jumping on the bed besides Jon’s upper body to lick some stray tears on his cheeks. Jon lets out a few sobs of misery to sooth himself some bit, but then lets out some calming breaths trough gritted teeth, forcing air through his nose shakily before letting it out again.

After a while, his whole body shaking from the fight of his body between pleasure and lust against pain and impotence, Jon finds a semblance of calm. By then Ghost is curled against the wall, near Jon’s head, and is still nosing his cheek in a comforting way. Jon cannot understand how the direwolf pup manages it, but he does feel calmer thanks to him. 

Feeling totally wrecked, Jon closes the box, and flexes himself to bring it in a drawer at the base of the bed, stifling a gasp as he feels the small plug shift in him. Not wanting to move anymore, Jon does not even bother to bend down and grab his breeches, least of all wriggle in the garment. In the end, all he manages to do is to retrieve his sheets from under his feet and cover himself, before turning on his side to face the wall.

He can’t say if it was long or not before Luke comes back in the room. He hears many sounds of footsteps and cheers and laughs in the distance, and thinks for one moment that Luke has told it all to his men. But then he brushes the thought aside and dismisses it as a ridiculous fear. The rough man would not do that. Isn’t it? Certainly it’s only men having some fun, or even the Mountain’s men celebrating their safe departure from White Harbor. 

When the man comes back, Jon hears him hesitate between their two beds. His heart hammers so loud in his chest that it’s actually painful. _Please not that._ But he already knows it’s unavoidable. 

“Show me.” 

Is all the man says, before he grasps the hem of Jon’s sheet on his neck and starts slowly lowering it until it is way down his buttocks. Jon bites his lips and clenches his eyes shut as he bends his upper leg and moves slightly aside to give the man a good enough sight, only to sigh in relief when the man wastes no time looking him down before gathering the sheets up and helping Jon tuck himself back in. 

He feels more than he hears it when the man extends a hand over Jon, close to his shoulder. Jon grabs for it, undesirous to be touched in his state, only to feel surprise overwhelm him when his hand grabs something soft and squishy. 

“Strong wine. I though you could use some.” Is all the man says before Jon hears the rustling of clothes behind his back, then the sound of him getting in his sheets with a sight. 

“Thanks.” Jon says after a while, before gulping down half of the wineskin in one go. 

His head starts to spin right away, then falls back on his pillow before Jon closes his eyes to welcome sleep. Yet something nags at his mind, and he can’t say if it is from the wine or his whole humiliation of the evening, but Jon cannot keep it to himself.

“It must have been quite a discussion when the Mountain showed you the gifts and told you what to do with them.” He says, breaking the silence.

He hears a snort in his back, before Luke lets out some open-throat laughs. Jon feels wrecked by all the shaming and the torment of the evening, yet the genuine laugh of the man is so contagious that it isn’t long before he chuckles too. 

“Boy, I’ve seen many things in my life. Some horrible, some wonderful, and some surprising. But there are no words to describe the sight of a big hulk of a man such as the Mountain blushing like a green boy with sex toys in his hands.”

Jon can’t refrain himself. He laughs wholeheartedly himself at such an image. And feels something warm bloom in his chest at the notion of how much he affected the formidable knight. 

He does go to sleep picturing all the ways he could make the man react to him.

* * * * * 

The next morning is hard on Jon. His head throbs from the alcohol, and he learns that moving is a torment. The toy in his backside keeps shifting as he bends over to retrieve his breeches and wriggle in it, then walk out the cabin to go break his fast. And he keeps clenching around the small plug, still not use to the feeling of moving with something in him. He keeps blushing at any given times; each time he sits, and feels the plug open him some more, or when he raises again, and feels the plug shift, or when he walks around and feels the foreign weight of it. It also has him aroused like never before, more so because of how owned and debauched he feels at acting like everything is normal, while he goes around with sexual implements under his breeches, hidden from view.

The cage preventing his manhood from becoming erected soon feels like a benediction if only because Jon is spared the humiliation of walking around with an obvious tent on the front of his pants. Yet this really small blessing also come with the despairing knowledge that there would be no satisfying his aching needs until they had boarded at Kings Landing, then rode to Castlery Rock to meet with the Mountain there. 

The worst event happens when the captain, as per their agreement on taking them on board, give them the laborious task of rubbing the wood of the ship clean so that moth could not install itself in the wood, and then damage it. When comes the time for him to take a brush, he nearly curses at the sight of the few smaller ones remaining near the soapy buckets, rather than the broom-like ones some of the man have already gathered. It’s a torment to bend on all fours, feeling all opened and all exposed, as to rub the floor of the deck clean. His blush could not get any more furious than this. And the more men look at him and notice his beet red cheeks, the more he feels burning warmth spread on his face, then his neck and his chest. 

Men look at him with humour, not understanding why their green boy companion keeps blushing like a maiden at any moment. He soon becomes the laugh of most grown men on board, and jokes about how they would need to make him visit a brothel soon if only so that he becomes more of a grown man keep raining his way.

He feels no end of relief when he finishes scrubbing clean his portion of the deck, and is free for the rest of the day. He wastes no time dallying on the deck, and soon finds himself in the blissfully cooler tranquility of his rooms.

Alone.

With absolutely nothing to divert his mind from his frustrated, tormented parts. He shakes from rage until he becomes sore all over.

He feels like he’ll soon go nuts.

Mercifully, when Luke enters their cabin late that night, he doesn’t ask Jon anything, or even jape about his blush or anything relative to his state. There’s humour in his eyes, and he smiles as if he’s on the verge of joking. But Jon glares at him with such a grave expression that the man has the kindness of keeping shut.

He barely sleeps that night, restless and shivering from despair. He wakes the next morning with a headache, and feeling so grumpy that he cannot care one bit if his features are set in the glummest expression. He passes his days looking up to do some menial tasks, such as cleaning, or helping the crew around whenever he hears someone hail for help. Anything to not think about his predicament! 

The next few days aren’t much better, with him getting more and more in a frenzy to forget about his aching, trapped manhood, and his filled, needy entrance. _Hell, he will make the Mountain suffer! Oh he will!_


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5 

Jon watches the sun rise over the horizon, its reflection shining over the waves of the Shivering Sea. The dark purple sky is soon painted with rays of a lighter blue, cut down by the vibrant hues of orange, yellow and even some pink. There is something eerie about the way all these colours are reflected over the dark waves of the sea, and how vast and enveloping it all seem, with no trees, no mountain or buildings to map the distance. Looking at such colourful vastness, with his nostrils filled by the smell of salt and his body lightly jostled by the waves under the ship, Jon feels totally appeased, all the tension leaving his body until he feels positively relax and good.

Even though it’s been two fortnights and a half since he got on the ship, it’s the first time Jon gets out of his bed early enough to enjoy such a clear view of the sunrise. At Winterfell, the mountains around always hide part of it, and the mist caused by the snow, or some other phenomenon he doesn’t understand, always seem to make it look even more faded. That’s for the few times Jon actually bothered to look at it. His rooms there faced North, with no windows on the east or the west to watch the progression of the sun. All he could look at there were the woods and the mountains vanishing in white mist due to snow. If he wanted to look at the sun rising, Jon had to get out of his room, and get to a good vantage point, which he rarely did out of lack of interest, or laziness. 

But now things are different. Jon is travelling away from home, to new destinations and a totally different future than what he would ever have guessed. He’s a total mess of anxiety, anticipation and excitement over this trip, and has trouble sleeping, his whole body restless and disturbed by such amount of conflicting emotions. Besides, there are other reasons he has trouble sleeping now, reasons he fights all hours of the day and the night to forget. 

Way too soon for his tastes, the sky clears and the sun looms over their head, sign that the morning is well in. Soon enough, noises and agitation disturb the quietness Jon was in, the men on the ship busing themselves around it. 

“Boy, stop looking around doing nothing! Here, see that bucket of water and the brush? Scrub the deck clean!” The captain bellows from behind Jon, a commanding frown on his rough face. 

Jon looks around at where the man is pointing, and sees a big bucket filled to the brim with soppy water, with a broom-sized brush alongside it, as well as some other smaller brushes scattered around. Before he has made it halfway to the water and brushes, one of the Mountain’s man, Harry he thinks is his name, grabs the last broom size brush with a victorious smirk toward him, leaving Jon to pick among the smallest brushes, the ones which will force him to scrub the floor on all fours. Man, how he wishes to knock his grin off, and even a few teeth with it! He thinks so as he gets on his hands and knees, stifling a groan as his body tenses all over, before relaxing some. At least he has stopped blushing a long time ago.

“I fucking can’t wait to be off that bitch ship! I hate scrubbing the floor!” is said just beside Jon, in a grumpy voice .

The man must be the youngest of the party, about 3 and twenty while all the other men have reached their thirty’s, if it’s not their forty’s or even their fifty’s like Cal, the man who has some healing knowledge. The young man has green eyes and pale brown hairs cut short, no longer than two inches. The hairs on his cheeks are still patched and short, but it should be impressive in some years. His broad shoulders must make girls salivate. Jon sure has to swallow at their sight. His name is Tytos, named after Tywin Lannister’s father, and nicknamed Tyt. The man who’s knocked Jon out the night he was abducted. The now totally healed wound on his head twinges from the memory of the pain there. He still hasn’t warmed much to the young man.

As for them rubbing the floor clean, it has become the trade for the Mountain’s men to rid the crew of the task of rubbing the wood of the ship clean of any moth attacking the wet surfaces. It might be one of the lowliest tasks to be done on the ship, but it’s always just one part of the ship a day, and spread among the twenty or so of them, the task is usually done within less than an hour or two. After which they can have the rest of the day and the night to themselves. Although Jon always made sure to take a few tasks more upon himself, needing the distraction.

He still hates to have to bend on all fours and rub the wooden floor clear of any moth with a passion.

“Sure!” He comments in a noncommittal way. 

Jon keeps brushing furiously, teeth gritted so tightly it actually hurts his jaws, brows knotted in a grave frown, all his muscles tensed to the point of making his motions on the verge of sloppy. He thinks about his worst moments at Winterfell, the dismissive glances given to the bastard of Winterfell, the japes about his blood status, Lady Stark and the seething glare in her eyes as she looked at him as if he was nothing more than a cockroach. A human size cockroach. More than anything, he thinks about Theon, and his cocky smile, his eyes filled with the most misplaced humor. His constant painful joking about Jon being a bastard. Hell, how he regrets not having crushed that smile until teeth went missing.

He’s done half of his part in bare minutes, scrubbing hard enough that not even the tiniest fiber of moth could have survived the hard treatment. Yet his mind is in such turmoil that he barely registers before the information gets swept away. 

“Seriously pal, no need to work yourself so hard! It’s just a deck, not a battle!” Tyt says, a bemused frown on his face as he seems lost between amusement and concern.

Oh yeah this is a battle! One that Jon doesn’t want to explain to the young man. One he does not even want to think about himself. He’d rather think about Theon Greyjoy, and Lady Stark and anything which angers him rather than think about the battle he has to fight at every single minutes of days and night alike. Damn, he can’t wait for this trip to end. He can’t wait to meet back with the Mountain again! All he can do now is think about all the ways he can make the man pay for the torments he is causing to Jon. Oh, he will make sure the man knows frustration as Jon now knows. He will see if the man still harbours his smug smile once Jon has made his blood burn with lust and desire, before denying him any relief. No matter that the mountain man is more imposing than him, Jon will find a way to do that!

And so he scrubs and scrubs, and scrubs again. 

“Enough of that lad! I still want to have wood on the deck of my Bitch!” A loud voice bellows roughly above Jon.

It’s like a bucketful of icy water his thrown at Jon. He’s startled out of his reverie by it, and looks up, feeling lost, until he recognizes the captain, who looks at him with a bemused frown. Jon looks around him, and notices that he’s way out of the part he was assigned to scrub clean. He’s also the last one still at it, most of the other men sitting around on barrels or crates and eating their dinner, some looking at him warily. Tyt is one of them. The others must be resting or napping in their cabins by now. Then Jon looks at the sky, confused, and realises how high the sun is. Hell, he must have been at it for hours without taking any notice of it! 

He swallows, then looks up at the captain, who’s still looking at Jon as if he’s a breathing puzzle. He nods his head in agreement of the order, then rises on shaky legs. Actually, now that he’s allowing his body to take a break from his intense, scornful labour, Jon realises how tired down he is. He has trouble standing due to the exhaustion of his legs. Hell, his knees are so sore from being on the hard wood for so long, they’re agony. His whole body is throbbing in pain and shaking from the exertion. He can barely feel anything else. The worst are his hands, all red and wrinkled so bad that the skin has breached near his knuckles. When he tries to bend over so as to get the bucket of now muddy water and go pour it in the sea, he’s so clumsy at it that the captain doesn’t wait for his second try before stopping him.

“Somebody else will do it lad! Go get something to fill your stomach. And whatever troubles you, get over it! No man here tires himself so much as to get hurt, least they get other men hurt.” The burly man advices more quietly, his tone nearly concerned. 

But surely Jon is wrong on that matter. Again, he nods his head in ascent, then proceeds to walk clumsily toward the cabins, and so, near the other men resting or eating. He’s about to pass them by, and head toward the kitchen, when a hand bars his way. Tyt, again. His admonitions are cut short when he sees the man extend a bowl of stew and a lump of bread toward him. 

“The cook has closed the kitchen. I got that before he left”

Jon is too dazed and exhausted to know what to make of it. He stands in front of the other man for a long while, mouth agape in shock, an embarrassing dumb look of bewilderment on his face as his eyes keep staring between the man, and the food.

“I think the princess boy wants you to feed him, Tyt!” A man finally exclaims after a while, laughing it off and causing more men to follow the example. 

Tyt snorts. Jon grabs the offered food with a grateful nod and sits on the only free spot nearby, which happens to be between Tyt and Burrich, the man who doesn’t mind manhandling Jon one way or another. He groans when he finally sits, and feels blood rush to his cheeks as Burrich and some other men look at him in a funny way. Hell, he has totally come to forget about the plug in his entrance, the third of the set. He avoids their stares by gulping down his food. Soon enough, the discussions resume. Some men talk about the battles they’ve been in, while other talk about their wives, or their fields, or even their whore. Jon listens in for a while, desirous to learn more about the Mountain’s men. Until Tyt tries again to talk with him.

“So, it’s the first time you leave Winterfell?” He asks, taking Jon by surprise.

“No, I’ve been to White Harbour once. And to Karhold too. I’ve also been to Dreathford once, before Roose Bolton’s trueborn son died.” He answers between two mouthful. 

He doesn’t add that he would rather never think about the last place again, the bleak place and the cold lord both making him feel uneasy. 

“Well, the Mountain moves a lot! I never thought I would move so much before I got to be among his warriors. You sure will see more of the world too. And better than icy rocks and snow everywhere!” Tyt says cheerfully.

Jon likes snow. And the castles and ports are too great to be surnamed icy rocks. But he doesn’t say any of it to the man. Jon doesn’t see the point of ruining the discussion with a man who could soon become one of the only men he knows. Hell, apart from the funny jeers and some grunted comments here and there, none of the Mountain’s men have bothered to talk to him in the last fortnight or so. 

Of course, there had been some questions about the reasons the Mountain would go to all the trouble of abducting Jon and making him travel to his lands. But Luke wasted no time in settling the matter by telling the ones who dared question Jon that he was now the Mountain’s squire, and that for the rest, it was only Ser Gregor’s business why he would get to all the trouble of getting that specific boy for himself. Jon is still sure some of them have doubts that it’s not just about him becoming the Mountain’s squire. Some stares at him with too much insistence, sneering his way as if they have doubts about his secrets. Tyt is a refreshment to all that if only because he seems genuinely interested in knowing more about Jon himself.

Tyt talks more about what he’s seen while traveling, and Jon listens to him as he finishes off his food. As hunger and thirst leave him, Jon feels more and more the weight of exertion, so much that Tyt does not even look offended when Jon tells him he’s going to rest, before taking his leave. 

The relief of finally being alone in the small room he shares with Luke is soon washed away when Jon sits again, and then lay on his back. He doesn’t suppress it when a moan makes its way out of his throat. He blushes furiously, thankful of his seclusion so as to avoid himself this embarrassment. But this time there is nothing to divert his attention from his throbbing, burning backside, or from his tensed groin and his leaking, aching cock

Ghost does not even move from his spot under the desk when he hears Jon. He barely peers at him, before whining softly. Jon is not surprised when he sees his familiar turning over on the woolen sheet he has placed there for him, before the wolf tucks his head under his paws. It’s queer how the wolf acts as miserab;y as if he was tormented by frustration too.

His hesitant hand lands on his stomach, and Jon berates himself only a few heartbeat before ceding to the temptation. He swallows, and closes his eyes, before letting that hand slowly make its way down the growing path of hairs there, before reaching the waist of his pants. He slowly loosens the laces there before slipping it under his breeches. His fingers hesitate a moment over his pubic hair, before he lets them roam over the first ring of metal there. His flesh is soft, and burning hot to the touch, which is a funny contrast with the cold metal. Yet he doesn’t feel the cold contact on his cock, the leather padding there protecting his manhood from it. His fingers trace over the three other rings circling his manhood, before they reach the one circling the base of his head. The touch on the skin there is ever so exquisite, and Jon can feel his groin ache even more in tensed need. Out of habit, he clenches hard on the muscles of his butt and moans out loud at the feeling of being stretched by the wooden, threefingers sized plug filling him. Blood pours in his cock, and tries to make it harden. But the rings, bounded together and shaped like a cage, make it painfully pointless. 

He shouldn’t take comfort from clenching around the wooden implement filling him or holding his cock, trapped in its cage as it is. But somehow, once he spends every ounce of energy and anger into physical labor, Jon feels so lax and positively mellow that he doesn’t see the point of resisting his urges, as futile they are, anymore. 

He wouldn’t believe he could get to that point twenty days ago.

That evening, when Luke gets in their cabin, he informs Jon that they should arrive at Kings Landing the day after the morrow.

* * * * * 

Kings Landing is a formidable city. Jon has no other words for that. He’s still not there, looking at it from the few remaining miles of sea separating their ship from its shore. But already Jon can tell that the castle is an impressing thing, and its city! It’s so huge, and with so many people. The countless tiny houses and commerce rising here and there make the formidable city look cramped, so much that it is no wonder peasants and small folks have started installing their houses outside the great walls surrounding the city. 

Standing on the highest part of the front deck, leaning against the bannister, Jon watches it all with awe, not caring one bit about how he must look to the other men around, crew and Mountain’s men alike. He’s way past caring for that now. 

As they get closer and closer from the city, and its most impressing harbors, the wind, which has been bringing to Jon’s nose the salty smell of the sea ever since they got away from lands, now brings an awful smell to his nostrils. Of course! He has already heard about the awful wafts of stench coming from such a populated city. His wonder at the city finds itself greatly diminished the more they near the ports, on which dozens of ships in all sizes are stationed. A wonder the King’s entourage can get used to such horrid odor. How could any of them look down at the great Northern cities and their cleanliness is beyond him. 

Yet, by the time the Bitch ship finally arrives at the dock, and cords are thrown to harbor men so as to attach the ship to it, Jon’s enthusiasm is mostly up again. He can see the streets crowed by bubbling mass of people hurrying into their morning effervescence. And the realisation that he will soon get down and join the frenzy to cross the city and be on his way to Castlery Rock has him nearly jumping from joy. 

He runs grab the bag containing his meagre possession in his cabin, and pat Ghost on the head before leading the wolf on the dock, to the wooden box Luke has pointed to him earlier. It chagrins him to see that his poor pet, who has been cooped up all the journey and has barely been able to stretch its legs once in a while when it was late enough that most of the ship was asleep, will have to be cooped up in an even more cramped closing. 

Luke has already told him the reasons for that. His albino wolf is too recognizable on his own. Even if they manage to traverse the whole city without creating a panic at the sight of the direwolf pup, who is now the size of just any other wolf after having grown a bit more, the news of a direwolf traveling in the city might alert the wrong persons, too fast. Their party might find their way blocked at the gates of the city, or pursued once away from the city, depending on if there is a ransom on Jon or not. They don’t know much about the news circulating about his disappearance, but if one thing is sure, it’s that they won’t take the risk of him being caught or intercepted.

While most men have been given the task of leading the horses down the ship, and regrouping them on the docks, ready to leave at a short time notice, two men have been sent to buy a small cart and a spare horse to lead it, it’s purpose to carry Ghost in its box through all the city, until they’re out of sight from it.

Jon pats Ghost’s head a last time, and his pet licks his hand gently, as if to reassure him that he doesn’t mind this new annoyance. Then Ghost enters the box on his own, stepping into it before turning around and sitting on his paws in all dignity. 

“I was wrong about that pet!” The captain says as they both watch two members of his crew place a lid on the box and pin it in place with a single nail at each corner, so that the blade of a knife would be enough to tear it open later. “You trained him well, lad! No wonder the Mountain wants you both!” He adds with as much amiability as could come from him. He doesn’t seem any less rough or burly though.

“Thank you Captain.” Jon settles to say, not sure of how to address the man. He feels weird about the kind words. He thought he had been wrong to think the burly man was concerned about his wellbeing when he told him to give himself some rest two days ago. But by the way he has been talking to Jon ever since, and even for a few days prior to the incident now that Jon thinks about it, he has the feeling the Captain has come to respect Jon and appreciate is hard work on his ship, even if it was for no motive the man could think of. 

It’s still a relief thought when Burrich and Harry take Ghost’s box and bring it down the ship, and Jon follows them down the Sea Bitch before setting it in the newly arrived cart; fixing it there so that it wouldn’t move too much. He could not express how great it is to finally walk on stable ground again. And is it him, or everything seem so much taller and impressing from down the ship, than on it. Forget about the smell, Jon is totally giddy at the prospect of finally stepping foot in one of the most notorious city around Westeros. 

Until he turns around and sees the other men. To be more exact, the horses. 

Right. Riding. 

Suddenly Jon feels his enthusiasm over being down the ship and stepping foot in Kings Landing at last fade away at the realisation that riding will not be so great with what Ser Gregor has given him. He swallows the hard lump which has formed in his throat when he sees Luke riding toward him. He extends his hand to Jon, who looks at it as if it was a viper.

“Come on lad, get up there so that we can be on our way.” He says in a hurrying tone.

“I want my own horse!” 

Jon says back as he stares back at the man. The perspective of having to ride while keeping the toys where they still are is already daunting. He won’t add to that having to ride in front of another man. 

“Quit whining and hop on! Now!” 

The rough man says, not an inch of friendliness on his now frowning face. He gives Jon glare for glare, grit teeth for grit teeth. But Jon still insist. There is so much he can take after all!

“I want my own horse!” 

He insists in a slow groan, eyes all on the leading man of the party. But Luke doesn’t flinch, or give any signs of feeling threatened by Jon.

“Get on that horse now or I swear I’ll find another box and fit you in. I wonder which one of you or your wolf would get to be let out first!”

Ghost claws at the wall of his wooden box, and Jon is sure the wolf his hissing and groaning mutely in the confines of his hideout. Yet Jon has to concede that it wouldn’t be so wise to push the man around, not when he’s about the only one standing between him and the others. And the one who has the key to his cage.

He grasps the man’s hand, feeling somewhat deflated that he would again have to ride in the belittling position in front of another man. He cannot refrain the violent shudder making his whole body tense over when he finds himself sitting, the plug in his backside trusted further and opening him some more while his front gets pressed firmly against the front of the saddle. He can feel the warmth of the other body pressed firmly against his back, and the arm which wraps around him makes him shiver some more. Fortunately, no sounds come from his open mouth. He also succeeds into schooling his features before Luke turns around to lead their party away from the docks.

Jon thanks the gods that at least Luke’s horse is in front, and him in front of the man, so that no man in the party sees his expression when the actual motions of horse jostling start. Only strangers can look at his face. And hell, if he cursed the Mountain while journeying on the ship, it’s nothing compared to all the vulgarities and vengeance thoughts which come to his mind now that he’s actually riding a horse with a sizeable plug still in him. It feels like he’s riding a man more than a horse as the plug keeps moving in him along with the beast’s every moves.

After an agonizingly long while, Jon starts to get somewhat used to the motions of the horse and the havoc it creates to his frustrated body parts. Breathing through his nose and holding it while counting to five helps. Clawing at the arm wrapped around his waist with an iron grip helps even more. His whole body his so tense that Jon feels more sore in half an hour of riding than after his worst sword practice. Yet he finally manages to relax some bit against Luke. And by doing so, enjoy the sight of the city as they ride through it. As well as the dreadful smell. They must still be in the vicinity of the part of Kings Landing they call Flea Bottom.

The houses are set tightly around each other, which makes the streets quite cramped and hard to get by through all the agitation. Yet, If Jon looks at his left, he can see the top of what must be the top of the Red Keep. Jon lowers his eyes when he hears a young boy’s voice stand out among all the cacophony of the city’s streets.

“Hot pies to sell! Come here! Great prices for Hot Pies!” ¸

Jon’s stomach growls, desirous for something other than stew, porridge or soup to fill it. It has been so long since his last solid meal. He salivates, and spies the fat little boy as keeps bellowing his advertising while showing a basket full of the steaming pastry.

Unfortunately, nobody listen to his stomach, and the party keeps riding as fast as possible through the busy streets.

So Jon busies himself by looking at the people. It comes to him that the kinder weather there makes people wear lighter clothes. Thus it is not rare for him to spy women whose robes let their shoulders and arms uncovered, or even a great expense of cleavage for some. It is also not rare for him to see men wearing tunics which expose their shoulders and arms, and even the beginning of their pectorals for some. He eyes these last ones with much more interest than he should seeing where and to whom he is going. One man who sees him stare at him even wink at Jon with an interested smile. He’s sure he’s not imagining the tightening of the arm around his waist. 

It’s a relief when the worst of the horrid stench fades away as they get further from Flea bottom, and closer toward the Lion’s gate. The streets are still as dirty, but way less smelly. It is a blessing they arrived at the docks by morning, seeing as half a day later, they are still only halfway through the city. Jon would have thought that they would go faster the moment they reach one of the main streets. But quite the opposite, they seem to advance at quite the same rhythm, what with all the people moving around, and who are slow to move out of their way. 

When most of the men are so hungry they cannot take it anymore, Luke has them stop in one of the plaza not too many streets from the great Sept of Baelor. There Jon is fast to get his sore backside off the damned beast. He cannot remember why he ever felt so excited about riding one. He’s also fast to go see one of the selling boys and pay him some coins for hot meat pie. And the mix of steaming meat and bread is so sweet that Jon does not care one bit that he doesn’t recognize from which animal it comes. He even manages to persuade himself that it is actual mouton he is eating. Who knows, it might be true.

When Luke glares at him as he beckons Jon to share his horse again, Jon accepts meekly his hand to hop on the horse, still in front of the man. He doesn’t know what makes him act the way he does; tiredness, boredom, giddiness or a certain wish for retaliation for all the humiliation imposed on him since he’s been abducted. But Jon cannot resist rubbing himself against the man. 

Oh, at first he does it subtly, as if it was just a wrong move due to the jostle of the horse. He does it slow, so that the man still keeps his doubts a while after their back on the road. But then he gains in confidence, and makes sure that there is no doubt in the slow moves of his hips about what he’s doing. Jon smirks when he feels a well-known hardness against his lower back. He feels the arm around his waist tighten menacingly, and the man groan threateningly in his ear. The man cannot see his small victorious smile. At least, now he’s not the only one to suffer in frustration quietly. He makes sure to cant his hips just the right way every once in a while, rejoicing at the feel of the hard manhood for most of the late afternoon. But then, he gets bored even from that, and stops caring when after hours the hardness vanishes from his back.

The sky is half orange, half purple by the time they finally reach the Lion Gate. By then, Jon is nodding his head drowsily, half of it from tiredness, and half of it from total boredom. Thankfully, the gates are still opened by the time they reach it, although the few guards Jon can see there seem quite in a hurry to have them shut. They barely ask them who they are before letting them pass the gates and exit the still bustling city. Not long after, Jon hears the hinges of the door starting to close over the city for the night, and he cannot refrain himself from sighing deeply.

As they did before boarding the Sea Bitch, Luke has them ride for a few miles past darkness before setting a camp half a mile from the road. Jon is more than glad to get off the damned horse again, sore from more than just the saddle. If they were not so totally in the open, with barely a tree here and there to hide them from sight, he would be glad to find a private spot to relieve himself from the damned plug, even if it was just for an hour or so. But he’s not sure he even wants to think about doing so, in the close proximity of so many men. So he simply lends a hand about tying the horses, and get near Ghost’s box when two of the Mountain’s men get it out of the cart and near if from the fire to get a sight of the lid. It was nailed loose enough that a blade could slide underneath it and pop the nails out with a small pressure of it. 

An instant later, Jon finds himself on his back, with an enthusiast ball of white fur on him, a wet tongue licking his cheeks. Obviously, he’s not the only one who couldn’t wait to get out of the city. He rubs Ghost’s cheeks for a small while, glad to pass some time with his familiar, and not caring one bit about the laughs raising around him. His sixth sense tells him that the direwolf can’t wait to move around and potentially to chase some game now that he’s on stable ground too. Barely a word of “Stay close” later, the mop of white fur has vanished through the night.

That night, Jon’s dreams are filled with the smell of fresh herb, moist ground and rabbit flesh. Even through the lightness of it all, he can tell that his litter siblings are all agitated. 

He wakes up with the bitter taste of rabbit blood on his tongue, and the even more bitter aftertaste of guilt in his stomach.

* * * * * 

Traveling to the lands of Castlery rock is mostly uneventful even though it’s a long journey. The morning after having left Kings Landing, seeing as the cart is rendered useless by Ghost’s freedom to walk with the party rather than remain hidden in the wooden box, they abandon the cart where they camped. Which means that Jon can take the extra horse for himself. And thus, doesn’t need to threaten any other men for their horse the way he had wished to the previous day. Or annoy the hell out of them the way he has done so for Luke.

The man still glares at him coldly after his afternoon’s stunt. But at least he has been able to relieve some of his frustration, if Jon heard well last night, before being totally knocked down by exhaustion. 

It becomes a routine for the party to rise a few moments before the first rays of light, gather the supplies and prepare the horses for the ride before eating the meal that Ed has prepared for them. They eat hurriedly, standing if no makeshift bench can be found, before clearing their bowls and stocking them with their stuff. Less than half an hour after waking, they already are on their horses, riding North West towards Castlery Rock. To not push the horses too much, they regularly switch the slow gallop to a more calm trot once in a while. After all, it’s a good 10 days of ride to go from Kings Landing to Castlery Rocks. Still, they manage to move quite fast for such a group. 

After a meal near midday, the group stop to let the horses breath while they eat some soup or stew, then they’re back to riding again, until a few miles after the last rays of light have vanished. All in all, it’s quite monotonous and dull for Jon, who doesn’t have much to do but look ahead, think about Ser Gregor and his new life at his sides, and not think too much about anything sexual. 

Jon’s backside has been sore ever since they rode through King’s Landing. It’s a relief when after the second day of riding, the party reach a wood not too far from the Blackwater Rush, and Jon has enough intimacy there that he can take a few moments of his own to relieve his sore backside from the plug. By then his mistreated hole is throbbing painfully, and feels as burning as if he tried to extinguish a fire with it. He’s alone long enough to clean his whole body with a cloth moist from the river’s water, and he nearly moan with bliss at the relief of cold water there. He waits until next morning before inserting anything in there, and feels no ounce of remorse at inserting the second one of the set, which is smaller than the one he was carrying, and will give him some rest. 

By the next day, he feels comfortable enough to try again the third one, and is glad when by the end of that day he doesn’t find himself all sore and in pain.

The highlight of his days becomes the few minutes after they have settled for the night, when the men gather themselves around their makeshift fire, and talk while Ed prepares the food. Some nights they talk about the wars, or battles in which they have fought. Some nights they talk about their travels through Westeros, the uncommon sights they have seen while traveling or the ways people were different in some places. Jon is somewhat fascinated by this all. Some nights they even talk about tales such as only Old Nan can tell.

But some other nights they talk about women, wives or whores, and their best nights with them. He’s never much interested in these, although he pretends to be so that nobody would suspect his lack of interest for the fairer sex. But he keeps note of the dirty words the men boast about, or the positions they describe. He finds himself salivating once one man explains how he once let a whore tie him down to the bed and wrap a dark scarf around his eyes, before she rode him with earnest. Quite queerly, nobody laugh at this, not the way the man explains how he still had felt in power while the girl rode him, just unable to touch her, and let in the anticipation of her every move, her every touch. More than this, everyone seems somewhat aroused by the tale, most certainly due to the hush tone the speaker uses to convey how arousing it had all been. Jon certainly finds himself blushing a dark red, even though he still salivates like hell. He sure takes note of that one to talk to Ser Gregor later.

Jon learns that the Kingdoms are not cut out as cleanly as in maps when he asks Luke if they are near the Castlery Rock’s grounds, and learn that they have left the Riverlands miles ago without him ever noticing. He had already missed the change in territory from King’s Landing to the River lands, and thought that he would make up for this once they reach Castlery Rock. But it seems like he missed it. 

They arrive to the Clegane’s lands in the late afternoon of the eighth day since boarding at King’s Landing. Jon has to fight a lump forming in his stomach when he learns his knight has still not arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of you for your patience!   
> I sure can't wait myself to have Jon and the Mountain back together! And at last, it should happen in the next chapter!  
> From now on the plot should move some more, and be more interesting!
> 
> Also, thanks for every comments and Kudos! Your appreciation, hel and critism is always more than welcome!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long wait for this! I hope I will be forgiven.  
> I wrote this huge chapter with a lot of smut to make myself forgiven.  
> The thing is that I split the chapter in 2 so that it would be less of an heavy read. :cough: the smut is in next chapter :cough:  
> Here is the first part. I hope you will enjoy even though it's still not the smut part yet. I tried to dress a picture of Ser Gregor's household, and how are his people. Seeing as he _has_ people, I had him treated like some kind of lord, without actually being one. I also gave myself the liberty of potentially exaggerating his household, as well as the amount of his people. I try to remain realistic, and hope it doesn't seem too much.
> 
> Next chapter will come in just a few days. It's done writing, and just needs some editing!

Chapter 6 

Jon dodges Harry’s sword as it rushes toward his abdomen, parrying on the other man’s blind side before springing an attack of his own. That the man blocks with his sword before punching Jon on his left jaw to make him back off. It does make Jon step back a few steps, shocked by the sudden blazing pain which seems to spread on his whole head, suffusing from his hurt jaw. The surprise is enough to distract him from Harry lunging at him, aiming for his chest this time. Jon blocks the sword before it can make contact with him, punch him in the shoulder of his sword’s hand, before dealing a special snide attack on the man’s unguarded side.

Rodrick Castle has taught him this special move, joking that it was called the Bastard’s Strike, because it is a treacherous attack on an especially weak spot. This is the first time Jon uses that special move, not fancying the way it makes him feel guilty and ashamed for his blood. Yet he has soon learnt that fighting against the Mountain’s men means fighting with all his might, and not always in the most honorable way, like he has been taught. These men sure don’t feel guilt about fighting with dirty tricks.

Harry seems shocked for barely a few heartbeats, eyes wide opened and mouth gaping in a small outraged “O”. Jon has to refrain from smirking in the man’s face. No need to earn the man’s ire.

“Well, at the very least the Wolf Bastard seems to know how to fight.” The man says. 

They actually have been practicing sword fighting for near a fortnight, since their arrival at the Clegane’s lands. Jon having not much to do in Ser Gregor’s absence, he has soon found himself on their training ground. Or what could pass for it. It seems to be a small square of ground between the stables and the armory, with a few arrows targets along one wall and a wide enough space that about ten duos of fighters could fight each other. Maybe the fourth of Winterfell’s training grounds. 

There is still an old, beaten wooden dummy attached on a wooden post, but it is in a pitiful state, and cast aside as if people aren’t sure if it should be used again or thrown away. On his first day there, Jon’s first few attempts at practicing with it earned him more laughs from passersby than he would have thought, and it was with cheeks blazing that he walked back to his room, the small windowless cell adjacent to the Lord’s bigger room’s, Ser Gregor’s ones.

Later that day, when he went down to grab his meal at the dining hall, Harry intercepted him before Jon could climb back upstairs to his room with his meal, forcing him to join him and the few other men from their traveling party at their table. Most of the men took leave to go join their families in Ser Gregor’s absence. Only Luke, as Ser Gregor’s second, Harry, Tyt, Ed and a handful of the others remained. Even after nearly a moon of traveling with the men, Jon still felt somewhat uneasy to be alone with the whole of them. Ghost still was at his side, and Jon took comfort from it. 

It wasn’t long before Harry mentioned he had heard that Jon had tried to practice with the broken dummy. The other men laughed at this, as thought there was a well-known joke Jon was not aware of. And of course there was. 

Apparently, Ser Gregor had broken the dummy off its mast when he was barely three and ten, and already strong as a bull. He kept it though, and used it as humiliation for his men. He would send them spar with the broken dummy a boy of three and ten had broken, as a reminder that they were still as weak as children in front of their lord. 

And of course, Jon had to shame himself so at his first day here. No wonder passersby had laughed at him in the practice yard. He blushed a fierce beet red as the men kept laughing around him. But before he could even start to leave the men and go lick his wounds in his room, Harry had offered that he could spar with them instead of the broken dummy. They would get to see how a Wolf of the North fought his fights.

And thus, since then Jon has practiced sparring with these men, varying between them as they are all curious of how Jon could fight. Each morning, not long past the breaking fast time, he has found himself on the training ground, with a makeshift armor and a dulled blade, fighting with the Mountain’s men. He has learnt pretty fast that the Mountain’s men do not fight fair. 

Jon has been surprised the first time he disarmed one man only to see him lunge at him instead of accepting his defeat. The man had instead knocked Jon down on the ground, making all the air leave his chest, before pointing a dagger at Jon’s throat. Jon has learnt since then that a man with no sword could be as dangerous, if not more so, than a man with. After the third man pulling such a trick on him, Jon has no qualm anymore keeping the fight until he has made sure his opponent is fully defeated.

After nearly a fortnight of such fighting, Jon’s whole body is covered in bruises of varying sizes and colours. The worst one must be the one on his left flank, which is the side of a melon and a dark purple. That one is Tyt’s doing, always so good at leaving the worst kind of wounds on Jon. Just thinking about the young man makes Jon’s head itches at the memory of the pain from his wound after his capturing. 

He’s getting used now to waking in the morning, his whole body protesting as his sores and bruises come to life again. The first few mornings were particularly bad, what with him not being used to be punched and hit like a dummy. But in the lack of useful activities to quell his boredom, Jon has found nothing better than to go back to fight. Now he’s getting better at avoiding the worst hits, and his body is getting more pain resistant. Most of his bruises are fading. 

And he gets to know the Mountain’s people better.

He must have fought his way around two dozen or more of his men, some who are just curious to get to know the pretty bastard of the North better, and some who just enjoy a good fight or a good opportunity to take down somebody else. Jon tries to avoid these ones. He finds out that most of the Mountain’s men are quite kind, and jovial. In their own way. He has to get used to quite a lot of lewd jokes, and the ones about his bastard status, or how pretty he is. Tyrion’s advices about standing for what he is helps Jon quite a bit at not just storming off when some men give him particularly vicious comments. 

The women though are a different story. He can tell he has some effect on them. Most of them, mainly the younger ones, give him long appreciating glances when they believe he can’t see. They would look away the very second he would glance back at them, all shy smile and blushing. That’s for the more normal ones. He has had some bold ones try themselves at him, some ambushing him in the armory if he was alone there, all flirting and trying to get their hands on him. To his dismay, one even managed to touch him on the crotch before he snatched her wrists away from here and told her “no”. The worst thing is that she laughed and winked at him before leaving him with a “I can’t wait to see you again, pretty boy”. 

The maid who attends to his room is normally from the first category, more blushing and smiling shyly. But he’s learnt to be careful around her too, seeing as there was that one time she entered his room after having given him some cleaning water and presumably left, catching him in the nude as he did his toilet to ask him if there was _anything_ she could help him with. Fortunately he still had his smallclothes on. She would have seen quite a surprising sight otherwise.

Men are so much more simple to deal with.

“You dreaming, princess?” A men jests near Jon. 

Jon realises that he’s been musing over his stay there ever since his small victory over Harry. 

Jon would like to jest back saying something like “what, you wish I was dreaming about you?” . Unfortunately, he’s still not there yet about talking back, least of all being all joking and smiles. Like Theon Fucking Greyjoy. Not that he want to be like that either. Although it would make things easier on him. 

“I’m still standing and ready for a fight.” Jon states levelly.

The “What about you, old man?” is left unsaid, but Jon is sure Harry got the hint.

“Oh boy, then a fight you’ll get young one.” 

The man laughs before lunging on Jon again. Who’s so eager to fight back with all his might. 

They’ve barely traded a few hits with their swords that they are interrupted by a commotion nearby. Harry stops before Jon does, earning himself a hit from Jon’s sword on the left side seeing as he’s the last one to register the commotion. He stops, long enough to see a lonely rider arrive in a rush near the entrance of the tower, not too far from the training ground. Everybody who sees him stop in their activities to look at the rider. 

“Who’s that?” Jon asks to nobody in particular, curious about the reason why such a rider earns such great attention. 

“Joss Stilwood.” Harry answers Jon. He looks at him with studying eyes before adding “Lord Gregor’s squire.”

Jon is so taken aback by the news that he doesn’t see the shove coming straight at him. He finds himself tackled on the ground, already so surprised that it takes him a while to register from the pain on his shoulder and the smile on Harry’s lips that the man has just pushed him on the ground in retaliation for the hit Jon has given him when he stopped fighting. Jon glares at him with contempt. 

“Lord Gregor is coming home.”

A voice bellows nearby, and Jon looks up to see that it’s coming from Joss Stilwood. 

After more than a moon and a half after leaving Winterfell, and thus since last seeing the Mountain, Jon is so taken aback by the realisation that he’s finally getting to see the man again that he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It doesn’t take long for Jon to hear the rumor that Lord Gregor is still not due before one hour or two. His squire has been sent to sprint earlier to warn the Mountain’s people of his coming, so that they can get out of their house or their small commerce to greet their Lord. And of course, so that the maids and the cook have some time to ready his rooms and prepare some feast to celebrate the return of their lord and his men.

Jon doesn’t know what to do to busy himself during this waiting. He finds himself standing dumbly in the training ground as people starts to rush and run around him. Only the men in training remain were they are, although they are starting to chat and joke between themselves as most of them start walking toward the tower keep. They are most probably going to refresh after their training session before meeting with their lord. 

Jon thinks it’s not a bad idea for himself too. He’s all dripping with sweat for fighting all morning. It’s a thing is getting used to, seeing as his body is still getting used to the warmer weather of the south after having lived all his life in the cold of the North. He still feels somewhat naked as he walks around with just two layers of thin shirts and plain, thinner trousers. Which feels like stones less in weight than with heavy leather, several layers of shirts and thick doublet and a big cloak of fur.

Jon makes his way to the small room which has been assigned to him beside Lord Gregor’s master’s room to refresh himself. And has expected, a maid has replaced the used water in his cleaning bowl with clean, warmer one. A pitcher has also been filled with fresh water for him to drink. And from the smell of it, a fresh and warm piece of bread has been enveloped in a cloth and left for him. His hungry stomach groans at the smell, but Jon sets himself to wait until he’s clean before devouring it.

Jon is only too glad to divest himself from his moist, smelling clothe. He would usually stretch his sore muscles some bit, and rub the worst of his aches down before cleaning, but the imminent arrival of Ser Gregor has him hurrying past his usual routine. He wastes no time wetting the clothe in the waiting cleaning water and passing it on his moist skin. 

He’s back in fresh underwear and trousers when the door to his small room opens with a loud bang. 

Jon jumps, startled by the intrusion. He looks around, expecting Ser Gregor, or Luke or some other man like Harry. Maybe even the maid who’d do _anything_ for him. He doesn’t expect it to be Joss Stilwood, the Mountain’s squire. 

The young man is shorter than what he seemed from afar. Being on horse must have helped the assumption that he was taller. To say that he’s not comely would be an understatement, what with his unkempt greasy hairs, his waxy skin, his huge potato of a nose and his pinched lips, set in a disdainful frown. From his smell, it’s clear the man is not so used to soap. Yet Jon is well-mannered enough to not wrinkle his nose in disgust.

“Hey, what the hell are you doing here?” Jon asks before he could stop himself, indignation high in his voice.

“Maybe I shoul’ be the one askin’ that to you” The other young man says, his pronunciation more than lax. “Who the hell are you, and what the fuck are you doin’ here?” Joss Stilwood asks with contempt.

“I’ve been assigned to this room until Ser Gregor assigns me another. Which seemed fitting seeing as I’m going to be his future squire.” Jon answers the other young man, his tone politely harsh.

“This is _my_ room. ‘Cause I’m Ser Gregor’s actual squire.” Joss snarls while walking the short distance separating him from Jon.

The other young man has the gall to stick his finger to Jon’s sternum, looking at him from no higher than Jon’s chin with disdainful, angry dark eyes. 

“Everythin’ here is mine. I don’t give a shit if you go sleep with the servants, or the guards, or even the dogs or the pigs. Get out of here and find yourself some other place.” Joss spits harshly before turning around. 

He snatches back the clothed bread, as if to make a point that everything here is his. He unveils it, and make it a point to take a wolfish bite and chewing it loudly before tucking the rest in his pocket.

All along, Jon doesn’t know how to react. A part of him recognises the right Joss has on this room, and finds it more than legitimate that the man would be possessive of what’s his and is upset to find somebody else here. But another part, stronger and more on the surface than the other gives him the urge to punch the disdainful frown off of the ugly face of the despicable man. Jon shakes from his straining efforts not to do so, his jaws clenched tight as his knuckles become white from the tension there. 

“I want your stuff out o’ here before I get back.” Joss says as he walks backward toward the door to the small room, glaring at Jon with his mean little eyes.

As he turns around to step out of the small windowless room, he crashes right into Luke with a high pitch squeal. Jon cannot hold in a few chuckles, which of course attracts Joss’ throwing daggers glare.

“Watch where you go!” Joss snarls to Luke.

Luke glares him down from the head and a half he has on Joss, shoulders square and chest casually swollen in an intimidating posture. He doesn’t need to say anything to give the warning to Joss to not mess with him, his whole aura is enough to say he would not need much to give Joss the trashing of his life.

“I have to get down. Ser Gregor will need me when he arrives.” Joss says with a small squeaky voice that he fails to make confident. 

He does manage to square his shoulders and look up with clenched jaws, trying his best to seem imposing too. Which is still not much beside the taller and bulkier Luke.

“See that you do that Joss.” Luke says, the warning high in his voice.

Joss all but runs around Luke to get out of the room, before rushing with hurried steps along the hall to get down. Jon listens to his footsteps as the annoying squire vanishes in the distance.

“Always such an annoying pest that one.” Luke says grumpily once the footsteps cannot be heard anymore. “Don’t mind him. Gods know how, but we get used to him. Some.” He adds in a lighter tone.

Jon shrugs, before bending down to pull his travel bag from under the bed. Joss Stilwood is annoying. He would lie if he denied his desire to punch the uncomely squire in the face. But Jon is more used to annoying morons that he looks. He’s grown up with the like of Theon Greyjoy after all. 

He efficiently gather the few belongings he has not lost on his way to the Wall, which is mostly his warmer clothes and his swords to stuff it in the bag, hastily folding them in his own very neat way.

“You know the Mountain is coming soon, isn’t it?” Luke asks from behind Jon. 

Jon hears a loud clanking noise, and looks over his shoulder to see that Luke has just closed the door to give them some privacy. The room is small enough that having it closed make it feel like there’s no room between him and the other man. Jon might have found it quite intimidating back in Winterfell. But after nearly a moon of traveling inches from the man, either on cabin beds not two feet apart or on horse stuck to the man’s back, Jon doesn’t feel any unease anymore to being close to the man.

“Of course. That’s quite hard to miss. I’m just getting done with packing my belongings before getting down to greet him with everybody else.” Jon says while packing the sweaty clothes he has just shredded. He’ll find a maid to get them cleaned once he’s settled somewhere else. “Do you mind if I leave my bag in your room for the time being?” He adds, suddenly realising that his stuff should be at their safest in Luke‘s room. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Luke answers him, his tone betraying no emotion.

Jon stops mid-track as he’s packing the small tools he uses for his hygiene that he has neatly arranged near the cleaning water bowl. He studies the man, confused as to if he’s joking with Jon, or just being nasty. He cannot figure it and so he looks down in disappointment.

“Going down to greet Ser Gregor. I don’t think it’s a good idea.” The man says at seeing Jon’s confusion.

Jon understands it even less. Why would it be a bad idea to get down to greet Ser Gregor as will everybody else do? It’s only polite to do so, even more seeing as Jon is new among his men. He would seem awfully rude and disdainful to not do so.

“I don’t understand where’s the bad idea.” He points out, his jaws clenched tightly in irritation.

There’s only one more thing he needs to pack, something he’s hidden so that nobody would see it. Even though Luke is aware of its existence, Jon would rather wait until the man is gone to get it and hide it in his bag.

“Listen, I don’t want anything to do with what happens between my lord and you. It’s none of my business. But let’s face it. You sleep together. You’re not just his squire, or an addition to his men. You’re also his –“ The man interrupts his low spoken speech for a small while, seemingly searching for the right word to describe Jon’s status toward the Mountain. 

Jon’s mind provides it for him. His heart feels painfully heavy in his chest as the word booms in his mind and echoes until his whole head is filled with only these two small words. _His whore._

“His lover.” The man finally says with some hesitation. It nearly astounds Jon to hear him address the matter in such a clean way.

“And because I’m such a disgrace I should remain hidden until his Lordship calls for me?” Jon spits with gritted teeth. 

Suddenly he’s feeling sick all over. A great cold embrace his body. He shudders, but not from the chill. He shakes from rage, and shame, and more than anything else disgust. The weight in his chest becomes so unnerving that Jon doesn’t know if he’ll throw up, or groan in rage

His mind races with all these questions he manages to ignore most of the time. Why has he decided to go back to Ser Gregor rather than make a good name at the Wall? Has he no shame to bed other men? Has he no shame to let himself be bedded like a girl by another men? Is his dream to become some kind of knight worth being treated like a shameless whore? Why did he accepted all this?

“Hey, calm down lad. Calm down.” Luke says with some kind of surprise and confusion in his voice. There’s some hint of panic in his eyes as he raises his hands in as much of a soothing gesture as could be on him. 

Jon takes shaky intakes of breath, trying to calm himself as he breaths deeply and hold it, counting to 7 in his head. It’s a trick his father has taught him when he was only a child, to calm him down from outbursts. 

“It’s not a matter of shame. Not the way you think. But don’t forget that Ser Gregor has not seen you in over a moon and a half. And he’s got quite the thing for you. I wouldn’t put it past him to want to pounce on you like a bull in rut the instant his eyes set on you. It might be less embarrassing if you just wait for him in his room.” Luke says with his eyes piercing Jon. 

Jon looks down in uneasiness. He can easily picture it. Ser Gregor getting down his horse, waving some gruff greetings to some of his men, and then seeing Jon stands amidst his men. Only to jump on him and tearing the clothes off his body. Jon would not be able to give a shred of resistance. The thought could be endearing in some queer shaming way. But the notion of being watched by the integrality of the Mountain’s people is not quite to Jon’s liking.

He blushes, and bites his lower lip as he looks down to not see the look in the older man’s eyes.

“I’m sure he would show the proper restraints.” Jon says stubbornly, not believing that Ser Gregor has ever “pounced”, in lack of more proper word, on any young maid he has fancied.

“You’ve seen the king once he’s drunk some ale? He doesn’t show much restraint around a pretty lass. Ser Gregor might show some restraint when he’s at court or around nobles. But he’s got even less than the king when he’s only around his men. And around a pretty thing like you, that he fancies and has had desires for quite a while, I bet my balls he’d have no qualms pouncing on you and fucking you on the spot, no matter who is there to watch.” Luke says with his voice low, but heavy with his more usual amount of filth.

Jon swallows the lump in his throat, before nodding his ascent, eyes casted down on the ground. His face is burning from the fiery rush of blood there. The thought of the big, imposing Mountain losing all control over himself at the sight of him and simply jumping on him with no thought of the rest of the world seems daunting. But also, to his greatest shame, oddly appealing. Jon would still rather avoid any embarrassment if he could manage it.

“Wise boy. Grab your bag and go wait in Ser Gregor’s room.” The man says in a more neutral voice, before opening the door again and stepping out of the room.

It’s only when Jon cannot hear the sound of Luke’s footstep any longer that he rushes to close the door again, before walking to the bed and getting on all-fours on the floor near the head of the bed. He moves aside some old bag with old dusty clothes in it, most probably Joss Stilwood’s now that Jon thinks about it, before removing another bag hidden behind it. The bag he’s put Ser Gregor’s gift box in so that nobody would peer at it. 

He’s still wearing the chastity cage device on his manhood and his balls, as well as the fattest wooden plug. Still, he would not want anybody to find any of the remaining devices in the box and figure their use. If finding out that he and Ser Gregor are intimates could be embarrassing, Jon doesn’t want to think about what it would be like to find Jon is using any of these sexual devices on himself.

Once the box is tucked deep at the bottom of his bag, Jon looks over the small room a last time to make sure he has forgotten nothing. It’s as if he has not even been there, but for a few white hairs on the floor at the foot of the bed, where Ghost has been sleeping and shedding his Northern fur. Jon has Ghost’s blanket in his arms, and has made sure to drop most of the white fur on it off to the ground, in hope that Joss Slitwood would find it and be pissed off.

As he exits the small room to go to the next, bigger one of Ser Gregor, Jon is joined by Ghost, who’s coming back from his run outside. It’s a thing he’s quite glad of, that his pet can go run outside without too much fuss, Luke and the men traveling with him having assured to anybody who could hear that the white wolf is quite well trained. A few maids had been panicked at their first few times seeing Ghost. The direwolf still makes more than one uneasy, what with his size, one of an adult wolf. 

It’s with a queer sensation that Jon opens the room to Ser Gregor’s room. Seeing as he is the master of the tower keep, Ser Gregor has the biggest room, which also fits with his status as the most hulky man. Just the bed impresses Jon. It must have been tailored especially for Ser Gregor. It’s large enough to host five grown men, and Jon is sure that if he were to lay down with his head on the pillows, the distance separating his feet from the end of the bed wouldn’t be much lesser than his own actual height. Which is quite an impressive bed. And must be quite some trouble to furnish and clean for the maids. Just the sight of it makes him salivate, and blush harder.

The room is much more decorated than Jon would have thought. He would have expected the room to be all simple, with robust furnishing and little taste in decoration. More rustic. But actually it is well furnished, if not as elegantly as to any lord’s tastes. Standards of the three black dogs on gold are hung here and there, in honor to the Clegane’s sigil. A wide tapestry of hounds hunting a deer with already some bloody bites on its flanks is hung over the fireplace. There are a few robust chests along the walls, most probably filled with clothes and trinkets of some kind. Chandeliers either in silver or gold, as well as robust cups in gold and trinkets of some kinds are laying on them. 

What astonishes Jon the most thought is the bath tub. It is the biggest tub he has ever seen, most probably as big as he expects a king must have. Made of iron, the bath tub is wide enough to sit two men side by side, and have two man sitting in front of one another without too much unease. It seems quite the extravagancy. But Jon cannot picture Ser Gregor taking his bath in anything less. 

But of course, Ser Gregor is quite an impressive knight. It seems easy to forget that the man must be quite wealthy, what with his brutal reputation and his seemingly lack of lordly etiquette. But he is one of the Lannister’s most prominent banner man, as well as the undefeatable champion of most tourneys. Most certainly, the man has paid for some quite extravagant things over the time. 

Jon puts Ghost’s blanket besides the fireplace, along the wall. Not seeing any decent place where he can put the bag with his belongings, he ends up pushing it under the bed, where it is the least prone to be in anybody’s way. After a small hesitation, Jon replaying the discussion with Luke in his mind, he decides to retrieve it just long enough to fetch the box, and retrieve the pot of grease before putting it all back under the bed. He searches around the room for the most adequate place to put it, finally deciding to hide it near the head of the bed, under the pillow. It should do.

And then he waits. Mercifully everybody is downstairs, Ser Gregor’s room must probably have been the first place the maids rushed to so that the room would be ready for when he would arrive. Jon sits at the foot of the bed, not knowing what else to do. 

He doesn’t know how much time passes before he hears the cacophony of horses’ shoes on the ground, as well as the cheering of the crowd around the keep. The sun is still high in the sky, which means that it’s barely the middle of the afternoon. 

He might be confined in this room for the time being, but it doesn’t mean Jon cannot look out the window at the procession arriving. Ser Gregor must have a good two hundred men following him. Which is already quite the procession. Far less than when the king came to visit Winterfell. But still, it’s quite impressing. 

Jon has no hard time spotting Ser Gregor amidst his men. His horse already is the tallest, and with the hulk of a man on top of it, every other men seem like children sitting on donkeys in comparison. 

Jon can barely see the man’s expression from his vantage point up the tower keep. But he can picture the gruff man harboring his usual smug, yet brutal frown. He doesn’t gracefully wave around like a lord would do, but rather laughs and jokes once in a while, agitating his fist in the air as if in victory. 

The procession of the few men on horses and the many more on foot stops when Ser Gregor arrives near the entrance of the tower. He says something loud, his voice echoing in the distance. Jon can only distinguish a few words, such as “tonight” and “feast”. Most people in the assembly applaud, and the men following Ser Gregor cheers in great joy, before starting to separate. 

Ser Gregor steps down from his horse, a stable boy already close by to takes the mount’s reigns when Ser Gregor hands it to him. He addresses Luke, who is standing close to him. Jon cannot hear any of the discussion, but he can easily imagine what transpires of it.

“Where’s my squire?” He asks the man as grumpily as ever.

Joss Stilwood advances toward the gigantic knight, all seemingly eager to serve. 

“I’m here ser.” The little uncomely man says, a little bit confused seeing as he’s been in sight all along, waiting to serve his lord. 

“Not that one.” Ser Gregor says harshly. 

Jon sees the little squire step back with even more confusion, and seemingly disheartened.

“Where’s Snow.” Ser Gregor asks with impatience to Luke, who wastes no time answering his lord.

“He’s waiting in your room Ser, ready to attend to your needs.” The man says to the Mountain.

Who looks up toward the window of his room, straight at Jon.

Jon’s heart jumps in his chest, and skips a few painful beats as the man looks in his direction, too far away to distinguish his expression. They remain looking at each other for a frozen moment. Jon can feel his knees shake, and the burning in his cheeks drain from his face to pool down to his gut. Then Ser Gregor’s eyes leave him and he finds himself breathing again. 

He sees as if from outside his body Luke hand the gigantic knight something discretely before they both vanish through the entrance to the keep, and can only think of the key to his damned cage. Which is feeling awfully tight right now.

Jon finds himself frozen in place, his whole body shaking like a leaf as his gut get warmer and warmer. He has trouble swallowing, and feels light head all of a sudden. He’s going to get fucked soon. The Mountain’s coming, after nearly a moon and a half of waiting to get back with him. And he’s going to fuck Jon, most probably like a feral beast. Jon suddenly feels like a very much vulnerable prey, on the verge of being attacked by the most ferocious predator. Is it what a newly-wed maiden feels like as she nears the nuptial bed?

All Jon can think about right now is a litany of “Hell, he’s coming. He’s coming!”, or “He’s going to fuck me, oh by the gods, he’s going to fuck me.” , and “Finally”. Time seems to stop around him as his heart races in his chest, as he starts panting in anticipation, and his gut aches from tensing up.

He’s feeling quite weak in the knees when he finally hears footsteps approaching. Heavy, easily recognisable ones. His mind goes quiet at once. He turns around to face the door to the room, but cannot direct his body to move, or take a few steps to wait in a more appropriate position for a squire.

He jumps when the door suddenly opens up with a loud bang, and Ser Gregor enters it in an impatient pace. His angry expression would make anybody else run, or freeze on the spot from fear. He looks feral. 

_Oh by the Seven! He’s going to pounce on him._

“Leave.” Ser Gregor groans harshly, his eyes roaming up and down Jon’s body.

Jon is confused for a tiny moment. Then his eyes go on Joss Stilwood, who is two steps behind and to Ser Gregor’s right side. The little ratty squire looks at Jon with disdainful smugness. Jon understands even less.

“I said LEAVE!” Ser Gregor roars towards Joss, his expression all angry and red. 

Both Jon and Joss jump at the roar. Although Jon retains the dignity to not do so with a scared squeal. Joss wastes no time in nodding his head with a small curtsy before all but running to the door, closing it behind him. 

Then the Mountain turns his eyes back on Jon.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the second part of my promised chapter, hopefully the one which will make you forgive me!  
> Enjoy!

**Chapter 7**

Jon’s brain stops functioning properly the moment he feels those great hands on him. All he can do is huff needy gasps as the man harshly grasps Jon by the upper arms and manhandles him onto the gigantic bed. Just as their first time together, Jon finds himself face first on the mattress, with his rear hanging high in offer. The plug shifts in him and makes him moan as his hips move on their own accord in undulations. Strong hands get on his buttocks and knead them firmly through his trousers, splitting them apart once in a while. A needy groan echoes Jon’s moan.

“Help me get these things off.” The Mountain huffs in emergency.

Jon wastes no time in untucking his belt, feeling it be ripped from him and thrown away somewhere on the ground the moment he gets it opened. His tunic and his shirt are next to go, Ser Gregor pulling them in one hurried move to Jon’s shoulder, the both of them managing to get Jon rid of them in a great frenzy of rushing hands and ripping sounds. His trousers go on the same fashion, Ser Gregor pulling even his socks off his feet before throwing them down anywhere on the ground. He then takes firm hold of Jon’s bare ankles to spread them as far apart as they can go.

He groans again when Jon’s whole body is bared to his sight, his hands patting Jon’s hips before spreading his cheeks again, exposing the wide tip of the wooden plug even more. 

Jon’s moans become louder and way more needier when he feels thick fingers poking around his entrance, before taking hold of the base of the plug and pulling at it. The grease has dried a little since Jon put it in, the wooden implement sliding out of him with a little difficulty. It still elicits such shivers of pleasure on its way out that Jon’s whole body shakes from it and his toes curl for a moment.   
¬¬  
It registers in his lust-hazed brain that his groin and more so his cock and his balls are becoming more and more pained in their tight restraint. Jon has gotten used to feeling pain as his cock tries to swell in its tiny cage when he gets aroused, or wake up after an especially intense dream. But right now, on the imminence of being fucked again by the Mountain, the pain in his male parts is becoming more than quite intense.

“Please, Ser Gregor. Get that thing off of me. Please.” Jon begs in a pleading voice. 

“It takes too much time. ‘Have to fuck you now.” The hulky man groans, his hands going straight on Jon’s hips, the head of his cock brushing against Jon’s entrance.

He must have taken the shortest time ever to free his cock before they started stripping him. Jon cannot recall any other time the man could have taken his cock out of his pants. He whines at the prospect of being fucked with his genitals still trapped in their restraints. He already wants to come so badly.

The already moist tip presses against Jon’s stretched entrance, part of it breaching through just so easily after having worn plugs for a few fortnights. Yet it becomes clear to Jon that there’s not enough grease left from the plug to let the huge cock breaches him smoothly. Or as smoothly as it can get, what with it being just so huge.

“At least let me put some more grease.” Jon asks hoarsely, his throat feeling parched all of a sudden.

“No time for this boy.” The huge knight groans impatiently.

“I have some ready at the head of the bed. Please, it won’t take long.” Jon begs with the beginning of desperation in his voice. 

Already the tip of the Mountain’s cock is having trouble getting in, pulling at his tender skin in a painful way. The huge man groans in frustration behind Jon, before pulling out. He gives a hard slap with the flat of his hand on Jon’s right cheek, earning a startled yelp in answer. It’s as if he’s stuck a wide red poker to his backside so much it stings.

“Hurry the fuck up boy, or I swear I’ll fuck you raw. I will next time your ass is not ready for me when I want to fuck you.” Ser Gregor groans harshly.

Jon wastes no time in crawling on the bed at his fastest speed, removing the pot of grease from under the pillow before getting back in position few heartbeats later. He takes a generous handful of grease before stretching his hand around himself to apply it to the huge cock of the Mountain. The colossal man sighs as Jon rubs the grease on the tip of his manhood, swallowing loudly as Jon extends his hand further to spread the grease further around the thick shaft. For all his hurry to fuck Jon with barely any lubrication, the man gives Jon more time than he would have thought to make him grease his cock. His patience is still short lived, as Jon finds out mere moments later. 

“Enough.” The man says as he grasps Jon’s hand on his cock, then his other hand that Jon used to balance himself upright as he stretched. He finds himself propelled face first on the mattress as Ser Gregor joins Jon’s hands over his head and pines them there with one strong hand, while the other one takes hold of his left hip. And then he pushes in Jon.

It’s not as bad as their first time together. Jon can remember how much the pain was excruciating then, how much the fear gnawed at him that he might get torn as the impossibly huge cock forced its way deeper and wider into the tight walls of his rear. It was like losing his anal virginity a second time. Now he knows for sure that he can take it, and he’s prepared this part of his body by having it stretched around wider and wider plugs for days. He can feel the difference as his body opens up more readily to the massive intrusion, as the cock slides in him with way less resistance than it used to.

But being penetrated by Ser Gregor is still quite the painful experience. Jon wonders if it will ever be painless. Somehow he’s not even sure he wants that day to come. There’s something quite intensively great at being stretched so wide that his sensitive walls protest in pain. There’s something purely insane and fantastic at feeling his entrance being forced open to the point it must be all taut and on the very verge of just breaking. That even when he feels like his small channel cannot accept more of it, more is still coming, and coming, and coming. 

 

Through all the intimate, invading hurt, his body has no other choice but giving in to the invader and relax through the pain. And it’s that moment Jon loves the most. When there’s so much pain that all he can do is accept it, submit to it and just loosen up to it and accept. That moment is when the tremendous pain gets mixed up with just as intense pleasure, before getting overwhelmed by it. 

Jon still mewls in pain, tears running down his cheeks, when he finally feels the hard press of skin and coarse hairs of the Mountain’s groin hit his sore backside. He feels so full of the colossal cock that it nearly feels like it’s hitting his stomach, like it can simply poke the sensitive skin of his belly and burst him open. It’s exhilarating.

And then the Mountain starts moving back a few inches, before thrusting back to the hilt again, making Jon see dark spots. He grasps the sheets where Ser Gregor positioned his hands, and readies himself for the next thrust, longer and more forceful. His pleasure-filled moan echoes the pleased groans of the Mountain as they start hitting a fast, forceful rhythm. 

Jon’s brain is such a mess by then that it cannot register anymore what’s pain and what’s pleasure. Jon can tell there is a strong, distinctive throbbing coming from his groin. But it just adds up to the building pressure in his loins, which suffuses shivers of pleasure through his whole body. 

Jon starts thrusting back on the great cock, shifting his hips just the right way to reach his magic spot. His eyes roll back in their sockets until Jon sees only black as the worst kind of profanities erupt from his mouth. His brain manages to register that his trapped manhood is now leaking like a small fountain over the bed. Damn he can’t manage much more of this. It has been too long since he had any kind of release. He needs to come so badly.

“Oh yes, bitch. You like that! You missed me! You’re all flexing and pushing back on my cock like the best whore ever. I’m going to fuck you so good that no other man’s little cock will bring you pleasure like mine does.” The Mountain pants between thrusts, his voice all throaty and gruff.

And then he clenches his hands so firmly around Jon’s hips that he’s sure he’ll bear bruises there for weeks after this, before pounding in Jon with such vigor that Jon has the feeling he’s being fucked by a feral bull more than by a man. He cries in ecstasy, and everything becomes so intense that he feels something burst in him.

Jon’s whole body tenses as shocked when his orgasm overtakes him, his fingers clenching painfully in the bedsheets while he can feel his toes curl. The most debauched whine shamelessly escapes from his mouth as Jon feels his inner walls clench around the still pounding massive cock of the gigantic man behind him, his own soft, trapped cock pulsing burning fire as he comes with such great intensity that he feels like his heart will explode. 

Ser Gregor follows him in his orgasm mere heartbeats later, his powerful thrusts getting sloppy in Jon before he bursts like a geyser in Jon’s gut. All along the gruff knight keeps groaning and huffing louds “Ha” of pleasure, while his hands are gripping Jon’s hips so strongly that Jon feels like the Mountain might crush him there. 

And then comes that wonderful moment when they both feel all so good, so sated and appeased after such a frenzy of hunger and lust. Jon hums contentedly when he’s not panting to catch his breath. His body is all slumped and lax, his rear remaining upright only because of the great cock still impaling it, smalls tremors in his stretched channel still sending waves of pure bliss through his spine and the rest of his body. Ser Gregor’s fat cock still pumps for quite a while in Jon’s insides, making him feel all so full in the guts. Even when it finally trickles to an end, the imposing knight still remains well tucked in Jon, his hands now massaging the sore flesh of his hips. It’s only when Ser Gregor’s member is mostly soft in Jon that he moves out of his now sore and lax backside, the fat head of his cock catching at Jon’s entrance before popping out with an obscene “plop”.

Ser Gregor’s hands leave Jon, and his thighs and sore backside slump bonelessly the moment nothing keeps them upright anymore. Jon doesn’t feel ashamed at all to just lay there and relax in the bliss of his formidable post-coital experience. But then loud chuckles burst behind him, and he has to turn his head to look at the Mountain, who’s laughing as he looks at Jon.

“You should see yourself boy. All opened nice and wide, leaking seeds like a well-bred bitch. Quite an endearing sight you are, my wolf bitch.” Ser Gregor’s says, voice all happy and vulgar.

Jon moans when he feels the tips of three fingers touch the rim of his gaping entrance, testing the muscles there before scooping the greatest part of the drooling semen and pushing it back right in Jon’s throbbing hole. He whines when he feels the fingers being replaced by the wooden plug, sliding in him as in butter so stretched his ass is before nesting in him as easily as if it was just some missing limb put back into place. 

The same wet fingers come press at Jon’s lips soon after, nudging for them to open up and give the wet limbs passage in Jon’s mouth.

“Leak them up clean boy, and I’ll be all kind to you.” The Mountain says in a soft cooing voice, such as one would use to tame an untrained pet.

Jon doesn’t need the promise of kindness or pleasures to come for him to open up and accept the fingers in his mouth. He licks them clean, tasting the strong bitter-saltiness of seeds, mixed with grease and his own intimate taste with sheer pleasure all on his own accord, moaning as the taste exhilarate him. He lets go of them only when he’s made sure he cannot taste anything else but skin.

“You’re such a damned good bitch, boy. I’m going to have so much great time with you being here, ready to be fucked whenever I wish!” Ser Gregor says as he cards the fingers of his hand in Jon’s hairs and pats his head like he would a good dog for quite a while. 

Jon sighs happily, closing his eyes and enjoying this blissed moment. He winces when he feels the other hand rub at the sore skin of his backside, where Ser Gregor slapped him earlier. The man squeezes it some firmly for a few heartbeats, the gesture feeling totally possessive, and even affectionate for a man such as him, before both his hands leave Jon. Jon whines from the loss.

He hears the rustle of fabric behind him as Ser Gregor strips from his heavy tunic and shirts, carelessly tossing them on the ground from the sound of it. He strips from his trousers soon after, before Jon can feel the mattress dip besides him as the gigantic man sits to get his boots off. 

An instant later, the Mountain seizes Jon by a hip and the opposite shoulder and flips Jon so that he’s now lying on his back instead of on his belly, his backside unpleasantly wet from the mess of his own cooling fluids from earlier. Then he wraps one arm around Jon’s chest before dragging him to the head of the bed, as effortlessly as if Jon was nothing more than a rag doll.

Jon can only watch, boneless and totally impressed, as the gigantic man towers over him when he kneels between Jon’s open legs. Weirdly enough, the man looks even more imposing naked than when clothes cover him and hinder the sight of him. His whole body moist from sweat, the light shines highlights over great limbs and well defined muscles, making any other man look small and insignificant in comparison. Jon’s eyes get caught by a shimmer of light over the man’s chest, just over his strong pectorals, hanging from a leather thread wrapped around his throat. The key, of course. Even though it has just spent, his groin aches at the remote thought of being freed again.

Ser Gregor spots Jon eyeing it. He smirks, and stares at Jon with something predatory in his eyes. Jon just stares back, meek but not submitted, and holds the stare without wavering or blinking. It lasts for quite a while, until Jon doesn’t know what else to do with himself and bites his lower lip before licking it. 

It seems to decide something for the Mountain, because the next instant the man grabs Jon’s hips and pulls them upward onto his laps, forcing Jon’s legs even more open as he has to bend the knees and put his feet on each side of the man’s own legs, wide apart. Ser Gregor snatches the key and tears it free, the leather snapping from the strength of his brutal pull, before he gets the key close to Jon’s groin. Jon whines when he feels his trapped cock being touched by someone else for the first time since putting the cage on. Hell, it’s already so sensitive from having been trapped so long, and he’s just orgasmed. His whole body shivers from the unpleasant sensation. Yet he happily sighs in relief the moment he hears the click of the lock being unlocked. 

Ser Gregor is still quite forceful in his movements as he pulls the cage off of Jon’s cock, before passing his balls through the last ring of the cage. But even though the rough movements are quite painful to Jon, the sudden rush of blood as well as the feel of air where the cage used to be make his manhood harden in a matter of seconds only. Ser Gregor wastes no time in grabbing Jon’s balls in one hand, squeezing them firmly between his thumb and index before massaging them with his thumb as his other hands closes around his shaft. Jon is quite decently big down there. He has seen other male bodies and can tell from the comparison that his is not that small. Yet the Mountain’s hand is so big that it nearly envelops all his cock, leaving only part of the head uncovered.

“By the gods, you really are something, boy. Already hard and desperate again. Maybe I should always keep your little cock trapped all day long, and have you just as needy when we fuck later” The gigantic man chuckles without interrupting his touches on Jon’s manhood.

And then the hulky man starts moving his fist up and down on his cock. Jon moans loudly in a confusing mix off surprise, pain and bliss. The sensations are all so overwhelming, nerve wracking even. A whole body shudder overtakes him and he finds himself shivering like a leaf in the wind as sensations floors him so shortly after his other climax. He never waited such a short time before working himself off a second time, so he’s quite at a lost as to what to do with himself. He clenches the sheets in white-knuckles fists, and moans shakily. His hips buckle every time the big hand pulls at his cock, making his back arch off the mattress. 

Jon finds himself staring with wavering eyes into the dark ones of Ser Gregor, filled with hunger, smugness and possessiveness. These eyes, piercing through him and devouring him all have Jon moan in rapture and come as badly as before.

For all that it seemed like so much happened, it only took less than ten strokes on his cock for Jon to come. He feels as if his heart will explode in his chest as a second orgasm hits him. His back arches off the mattress in the most intense seizure, with only his shoulders still on the bed and the muscles in his thighs twitching wildly as his manhood pulses small jets of burning come over his stomach. The sore walls of his arse keeps clenching and clenching around the wooden plug, adding to the bliss of his orgasm. And all through that, the Mountain keeps massaging his balls and stroking his pulsing cock, making Jon’s whole body shake from the overwhelming pleasure.

Moments later, Jon’s whole body gives out and slumps bonelessly back to the mattress and the Mountain’s laps, some remaining tremors still making his whole body shake and twitch from time to time. He feels as wet and hot as if someone dumped him in a great pot of boiling water, and his lungs are still having trouble getting enough air. It’s nothing to him though. He’s swimming into ecstasy and after-sex slumber. He’s barely coherent enough to register the small blissed moans pouring out of his throat along his gasps and panting.

It feels like he’s out to the world and watching from outside his body when the Mountain takes hold of his ankles and spread them wide apart. He tears the wooden plug out of Jon’s backside, replacing it with his impressively big cock in a matter of seconds it seems. Jon feels the stretch to his sore insides, yet he’s so far out that he can’t register any pain, just some echoes of the pleasure he felt moments before. 

His flesh is so weak from his two fulgurous orgasms that all Jon can do is lay there and take it all like a rag doll. His cock is too spent to do anything else than twitch lazily from time to time. He’s happy just like that though. His heavy eyes blinks from time to time, allowing Jon to see the man devouring his body with his eyes as he runs heavy hands over Jon’s chest and sides when he’s not holding his hips in a bone-crushing grip. He hears more than feels when the gigantic man reaches his peak. He groans like a wild animal, before covering Jon’s body with his own heavy, all wet and burning body. 

Jon can feel his body being moved so that the Mountain won’t crush him with his weight, before the huge man embraces him and tucks Jon’s head just under his chin. He’s out to the world in a matter of seconds.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

When Jon comes back to himself, what feels like an eternity later, it’s to the sound of footsteps, rushing water and discreet whispers. His head is still loved just under Ser Gregor’s chin, and there’s a heavy arm draped over him and pulling him close to the other man’s chest. Their whole bodies are stuck together in a warm embrace, so close together that Jon finds himself swaying from the rises and falls of Ser Gregor’s chest. He would be happy to just go back to sleep now and there. And so he just lays there, sighing happily as he presses back as much as he can against the other bigger body behind him. The arm tightens around his chest.

A quiet, womanly giggle emanates from not too far away, soon followed by shushing sounds and even more rushing water. It still takes quite a while for him to fully resurface from the deep slumber he was in. Jon groans as he opens his eyes, feeling so dopey with satiation that it’s an effort to actually blink his eyes open. The sight which greets him is enough to wake him up fully though. 

For a first, it’s dark outside, with the last hints of pinkish orange vanishing into the night sky. That in itself would be enough to startle Jon, seeing as the last time he looked at the sky it was still in the early afternoon colors. But then he hears the sound of rushing water again, and his eyes set on its source. Where there are about ten serving women filling the immense iron bathtub with countless buckets. Some of them are glancing at them from time to time, some blushing fiercely while others smile shyly, silencing their giggles by biting their inner cheeks. Some of them look resolutely anywhere but at the both of them, focusing all their attention to the task at hands, shushing the ones who dare make sounds. And then there’s the ones who look disappointed or resentfully at Jon. The one who trapped him in the armory and put her hand on his crotch is part of them, just as is the one who has served him in his room, and sneaked on him once while he was doing his toilet.

She’s looking at all of him as if in betrayal, running her eyes everywhere on him as if she’s trying to take in every details of her disappointment. Which makes Jon realises yet another troubling fact, as if waking up to see the day is over and a dozen women have just sneaked on him was not enough. He’s naked. Like he knows he’s naked because Ser Gregor and him had very naked sex not too long ago. But there’s nothing, not a sheet or any remaining piece of garment covering any of their joint body. They are very naked. Under the eyes of a dozen women. And a lot of them are watching their very naked forms. 

Jon cringes and starts moving back to retrieve the sheets from under him or something. But Ser Gregor immobilises him by pressing him tightly against himself, before rotating their bodies ever so slightly so that he’s now partly over Jon, casually covering most of his body with his own, bigger one. Jon feels trapped, but the relief of not being as exposed as he was mere moments ago is greater than his discomfort. 

“Are you done yet?” Ser Gregor groans lazily towards the servants.

Some of them jump in the air, startled like lambs to the groan of a wolf. The one who used to serve Jon his water jumps the highest, to his secret satisfaction. One last bucket is emptied in the bathtub before a woman, one who looks older and has not glanced once at the couple on the bed talks in a stiff but polite voice.

“It is, Ser. Do you wish for someone to remain and attend you?” She adds in quite a clean speech for one serving the Mountain.

All the women put themselves into a line, and dutifully curtsy to their lord. 

“No. Go. But bring the boy some nice clothes. His are disgusting. And tell my other squire to get his ass here.” Ser Gregor order in his gruff voice 

The woman in charge nods before gesturing to the other women to follow her out of the room. They all gather the now empty buckets, as well as the sticks they used to bring two at a time over their shoulders, before moving out of the room, looking contritely to the ground but for some who still sneak some glances at the couple on the bed.

It’s only when the women have all left the room that Ser Gregor moves from over Jon. He misses his warmth right away, feeling the chill of ambient air where his skin has grown moist and warm from being pressed against Ser Gregor. Worst of all is the feel of the cooling, dried mess which has run down the back of his sack and along his thighs as he slept. He’s totally covered in the dried fluid, from his crack to farther than his mid-thighs. And that’s without taking account of the mess he has made on his stomach. He seriously hopes that the dim light in the room and their position on the bed prevented any visitors from seeing the extent of how Jon is covered in filth.

Jon turns on his back to look at the man, who is now sitting on the mattress, lazily stretching his arms.

“Did I miss a lot? I can’t believe I didn’t even arose when all these women first came in.” Jon asks the hulky man with as much casualness as he can mutter around such an intimidating man. 

“I fucked you real good, didn’t I?” The Mountain jests with his gruff voice. He looks at Jon with such an appreciative glare that Jon feels himself blush a deep red. He bites his lip and looks down briefly, before looking at the man with just as much appreciation. “Some men of mine reminded me of the time and the feast tonight. I ordered for a bath. Haven’t had a proper one since your hot pools. You were dead to the world the whole time we talked.” The Mountain adds with some smugness.

Jon for himself feels a pang of dread and shame that he was so deep in sleep from his previous climaxes that it took a crowd of serving maids nearby, emptying buckets of water and giggling like geese for him to wake. Even worst is the thought that so many people have seen him in such an unequivocal, compromising position. 

Ser Gregor rises from the bed, a tremendous creature of strength and virility in its whole splendor. And with the confidence of one from his way of moving. It has Jon realises that it is the first time that he sees the man naked from behind, and in his integrality. He has to come to the conclusion that the gigantic man is just as formidable from the back view as from the front. This sight only is enough to comfort Jon in the idea that he’s at the right place, in the vicinity of such a great man.

Jon rises on his elbows to enjoy the sight of the man as he walks to the bath. The sight of all these strong muscles working in his back, of his square and just enough round buttocks bouncing ever so slightly step after step, of his massive thighs and calves rising and flexing to support all this weight as he walks. The brief sight of his heavy sack and fat cock hanging between his legs as he bends to support himself on the robust bath sides before rising a leg over the edge. Jon’s mouth water as he feels a warm kind of hunger gnaw at him. The pleasure filled groan which escapes the man’s throat when his body has sunk under the warm water makes his groin clench and his cock twitch with interest.

Jon hears the metal sounds of the door being opened just then. He just has the time to sit and grab the edge of a sheet, pulling it up to his abdomen in a dizzying speed before Joss Stilwood appears in the room, his eyes spotting Jon on the bed right away. There’s something malevolent in his eyes as the smaller, fouler man stares at Jon, taking in all the exposed flesh and dishevelled hairs. Jon holds his stare stubbornly, refusing to lower his eyes in shame or any weakness. Quite the opposite. He holds his chin high and clenches his jaws resolutely, looking at the man with as much dignity as any son of a nobleman would, bastard status forgotten. 

Stilwood is the first to break the stare, his grimace replaced by a meek expression as he looks at Ser Gregor in a subservient manner. Jon’s eyes never leave the smaller man. He doesn’t move one inch from his dignified position.

“You’ve called for me, Ser?” Stilwood asks in a polite way, nodding his head politely before looking up at the huge man in his huge bath tub.

“Fetch me some nice clothes for tonight.” The Mountain orders as he grabs a bar of soap and starts cleaning his chest with it. He doesn’t look even once at his smaller squire.

Stilwood loses no time at accomplishing his task. He must already know the place quite well as he doesn’t hesitate one moment before going to one chest along a wall, opening it to reveal some hastily folded clothe before pulling out some golden tunic, with a black sleeveless doublet and dark breeches. Jon also sees the smaller man go to another chest near the bed to retrieve some leather, wide bracelet and a few golden rings. 

He sets it all at the foot of the bed, glaring at Jon with contempt before facing the Mountain again. 

“Done Ser. Do ya want me to stay an’ help you Ser?” He asks meekly to the gigantic man.

Ser Gregor stops in his ablutions to study him with critical eyes. Then his eyes go on Jon, who holds his stare with just a tad bit less stubbornness than with Stilwood. Jon doesn’t know what the man sees in him that he doesn’t see in Stilwood, but he smiles smugly before looking back at Stilwood.

“No. Snow here will do it just fine. Leave.” He dismisses the smaller man so easily.

Stilwood looks at Jon with such despise as he makes his way to the door. Jon nearly feels sorry for him, to be dismissed so easily. Yet the uncomely, vile little man doesn’t inspire in him much sympathy. Jon holds his eyes until the man has his back on him, and then vanishes behind the shut door. Then and only then he looks back at Ser Gregor. Who has resumed his ablutions in the most anodyne way. Jon stares transfixed as the man washes his shoulders, the muscles flexing as he rolls one shoulder while his hand reaches the back of it to clean there. His mouth starts watering anew at the sight of all these great limbs and muscles in action.

“Well, are you coming boy? We haven’t got all night!” Ser Gregor snaps as he looks at Jon with impatience. 

Jon startles at the tone of voice and gasps in surprise. He doesn’t hesitate one moment before jumping into action and obeying this command, anything to not have the man get impatient at him. He drops the sheets covering his lower body and starts to crawl on the bed to reach the edge, only to stop mid track with a loud “Ow” when a movement has his loins throb in pain and soreness. It’s actually more surprise than actual pain which has him stop with a cringe. His anus feels on fire from the aftermath of the intense stretching and the brutal fucking, and his insides feels as if he’s been gutted, only to have it all put back in with just this small difference in where things used to be. In itself the pain is nothing daunting or any sort of hindrance, not compared to when Ser Gregor is actually in him, but it leaves no doubt if any could still remain that Jon has been fucked by the great Mountain, and not softly at that.

Jon blushes as he sees Ser Gregor looking at him, his smug smile wider on his lips now as he studies Jon and knows what is troubling him, what _he_ has done to Jon. He challenges him with his eyes, and Jon holds his stare as he resumes his processing, crawling on the bed until he has reached the edge of it, quieting the small sighs which threaten to escape his mouth after each steps he takes. 

Jon cannot refrain himself from wincing once he finally steps off the bed, and trips as a new wave of pain emanates from his sore loins. His knees buckle and he feels off balance on weak and trembling legs for a tiny moment. Jon supports himself on the bed with one hand until he feels his legs are strong enough to support his weight. When he finally manages to walk toward the bath tub, it’s with a well-noticeable limp. Ser Gregor’s smile cannot ooze any more self-satisfaction than it does now as his piercing eyes follow Jon step after step. 

Jon walks around the tub until he has reached the man’s back. Even with him standing, the sitting man is barely a few inches lower than Jon. He swallows as he sees the great expense of tanned skin and muscles, drenched in water with stray drops running down through the rises and falls. He’s so transfixed in the sight in front of him that it takes Jon a while before he spots the soap that the Ser Gregor is extending for him to take. He grabs it shyly, and still hesitates a small while before finally brushing it on the skin exposed to him. It takes him only a small moment of shyly running it in small, softly-pressed circles on the skin for Jon to gain some confidence. He takes hold of one shoulder with his left hand before pressing more firmly with the one holding the soap. A pleased groan from Ser Gregor is enough to indicate to Jon that he’s doing right by the knight.

For all that they have fucked and shared a bed for more than half a fortnight at Winterfell, for all that he has been impaled by the man’s huge manhood as they had sex, or Jon has found himself opened leg with his man parts totally exposed and at the man’s mercy, Jon cannot recall a more intimate gesture than having the man’s body exposed to him as he washes him. Jon dedicates himself at insuring every inch of skin is properly laddered in soap, going as far as to use his other hand to scoop some soap and rubbing greater expense of soap at once. 

In no time the man’s upper back is entirely covered in a thick layer of suds, and Jon stops one moment to safely deposit the slippery loaf on a small table which has been moved just beside the tub expressly for that. Then both his hands are free to roam on the man’s back, feel the hard edges and panes of his spine and his ribs and the thick layers of muscles surrounding them. Jon’s breathe hitches in his throat and he feels as hot as if he has stepped in a furnace as he takes such a great pleasure from having his hands pressed on the man’s back. His groin is even stirring with the beginning of arousal, blood pouring in his manhood and making it stiffen slowly but surely. He must be insane. Yet, from the happy sighs and groans he hears once in a while ahead of him, as well as from the way the imposing man is all relaxed under Jon’s hands, Ser Gregor is more than happy from Jon’s ministrations. 

The position does grate on Jon’s nerves after a while though. His arms and armpits hurt from flexing over the edge of the tub to reach the lower back of the man, and the cool air on his tights reminds him of the dried semen which has poured out of Jon’s backside. He’s only too glad to focus his attention on cleaning Ser Gregor. 

Still, Jon would have continued dedicatedly for much longer if not for the Mountain’s voice cutting right through him and startling him out of a daze.

“Enough boy. You’ve done enough.” The Mountain says in a low voice. “Come in here now.” He adds, peering around his shoulder to give a look at Jon. 

Jon is so startled by the order that he remains frozen on the spot, confused as to what to do. Did the Mountain actually offered Jon to share his bath with him? Certainly there must be some misunderstanding. Why the Great but quite gruff man would do such a thing?

Jon is startled yet again when Ser Gregor moves around with a surprising speed, snatching Jon’s arm in a vicelike grip. Jon cannot retain a pained gasp from escaping his throat, hissing low in his throat as he feels pain explode in his arm.

“I hate having to repeat myself boy. You will obey, and fast. Now get your arse in that tub.” The man admonishes in a low, cold groan.

Ser Gregor looks in Jon’s eyes for a few seconds, waiting until Jon has nodded his head shakily in meek agreement, a weak “ Aye sir” barely escaping his pinched lips, before the painful grip is gone. Jon’s arm is throbbing from the pain, his other hand rubbing where a hand-shaped bruise is already forming on his forearm. Yet Jon loses no time making his way around the big tub, awkwardly climbing over the high rim before setting into the warm water. He’s only too glad when the water reaches his armpits, hiding the mortifying reaction another part of his body had when the gigantic man seized him by the arm. There’s no missing his hardness now.

It’s only a short time after Jon has submersed most of himself under the water that the door to the room opens again, revealing a young serving maid who carries dark garbs in her hands. She barely looks at the both of them in the bath, looking intently in front of her and looking at all but them. She delivers the clothes on the bed as briskly as could possibly be managed, before all but running out of the room again. Obviously, Jon is not the only one uneasy about Ser Gregor flaunting their privacy as if he couldn’t care less.

Albeit the water has had time to cool down since the beginning of Ser Clegane’s bath, it’s still warm enough to be pleasant in Jon’s mind. He does feel uneasy though when he notices that Ser Gregor’s stare is not leaving him, his dark eyes roaming over Jon’s body with a mix of hunger and appreciation. Not knowing what to do with himself, Jon settles to grabbing the bar of soap, flexing close to the Mountain as he does so, before starting his own ablutions He wills his blood to cool down and leave his blushing cheeks alone, to no avail. 

“What happened to you?” The man asks after a while, his eyes looking intently at a bruise on Jon’s shoulder.

Jon looks down, surprised by the question. It’s only at seeing the fading dark purple bruise near his collar bone that Jon remembers the place where he’s been hit by one of the Mountain’s men during practice. He notices that some new bruises are now adorning his wrists and upper arms where the gigantic man grabbed him during their intercourse. He’s confident that his hips will be quite a sight too when he’ll look himself there.

“It’s nothing.” Jon says in a dismissive way, looking down as he keeps rubbing the soap on his arms and shoulders.

The man barks some chuckles, devoid of humour. 

“You’re more blue than skin, and you dare tell me it’s nothing. Let me be the judge of that, my boy” Ser Gregor says with a tone which admits no arguing. 

Jon cannot refrain a shiver from running through his whole body at the implication of the Mountain calling him _his_ boy. The man is still looking at him intently, expression hard as he glares at Jon. Jon blushes even more, before clearing his throat.

“Sorry ser. I fought with your men.” Jon says, his eyes looking up to see the reaction on Ser Gregor’s face.

“My men touched you? Did they fuck you too during my absence?” The man asks angrily, a dark frown set over his features. 

“Oh no.” Jon stammers, only now conscious of how his statement sounded to the other man. “We practiced fighting during your absence. I didn’t find much to do with my days, and so I jousted against some of your men willing enough to spare with me.” Jon explains with meekness in his voice. 

Ser Gregor looks slightly less angry at that, but his hands are still gripping the rims of the tub tight enough that his knuckles are white from it.

“No one touched me while we were apart. Not even I. You saw to it.” Jon adds with a shy smile on his lips.

The man eases out at that, slumping back against the tub fully as his whole body relaxes again. A satisfied smile stretches his lips as he keeps looking at Jon.

“Aye I did. Get used to the idea that no one will ever get their hands on you while I’m alive, my wolf. My own wolf bitch.” The man says with such possessiveness that Jon feels like he’s soaring all of a sudden. 

He’s sure the man cannot possibly miss the appreciation as his own eyes devour the greater man. The Mountain cannot possibly miss Jon’s hunger at his impressive sight.

It shouldn’t surprise him when the man beckons to him, waving two fingers to indicate to Jon to come closer. Jon is only too glad to comply of course. He kneels between Ser Gregor’s opened legs, craning his neck to look up at the piercing dark eyes staring at him.

“Let me guess, bitch, you’re already all hot and needy for me.” Jon blushes, and looks down for a few heartbeats before looking up resolutely and nodding his head a few times. “You’re such and insatiable thing!” The man teases, one hand already on Jon’s right hip while two of his huge fingers breach Jon’s entrance. Jon moans happily, his cock becoming rock hard and twitching with need in a matter of seconds.

As usual, it doesn’t take much stimulation to have Jon reach his peak. The man trusts in him a few times, jabbing against this spot in Jon’s gut which has him see darks spots, either by accident or on purpose. He’s sure there’s not much left in him to dirty the water when a potent orgasm shoots through him, making his body seize and convulse even so briefly. Jon slumps bonelessly against the Ser Gregor’s chest, panting heavily as he tries to catch up his breath.

“What do you say to such kindness boy?” Ser Gregor asks, tilting Jon’s chin up with a firm hand as his eyes pierce through him. Jon is sure that even though the Mountain’s expression remains hard, there’s some mirth in his eyes.

“Thank you Ser.” Jon says in earnest, his eyes staring back into the piercing dark ones of Ser Gregor.

“Well enough, my bitch. I’ll teach you to do better. But for now it’s good.” Ser Gregor says in a low voice, the hand under Jon’s chin moving to press his head to the strong chest, patting his hair like a good dog.

Jon is a little bit confused by this behaviour, yet he’s feeling so blissed and lax that he simply let it go and enjoys the caress. He could nearly go back to sleep right there and then, tucked against the strong man, the water still a bit warm around them. 

In the end, it’s Ser Gregor who helps Jon out of the bath once they’re done with the water. It takes a while for Jon to regain his strength, but he does manage to get himself dressed in the black, better garbs Ser Gregor has asked for him. He sighs as he feels the softer fabric cling to him, having nearly forgotten what it feels like after having worn the roughest and cheapest material for more than a moon and a half. Jon even manages to help Ser Gregor with his doublet and his bracelets without much of a hitch. 

Jon is so dopey with satiation and cheerfulness that nothing could possibly abate his mood anymore. He is only too glad to follow Ser Gregor down the tower to the dining hall which is bursting with so many joyful men and women. If some look at him with more insistence, reprobation heavy on their features as he passes by them, Jon pretends to not care or even notice them. Not even when some reacts with some surprise when Ser Gregor has Jon sit next to him at his table. The sight of food reminds Jon that he hasn’t eaten since early in the morning, and so he simply digs in the food without much of a glance to anyone else. 

Ser Gregor bursts in laughs and chatters with his men, most obviously in the greatest mood, and soon enough most of his men seem to not care about Jon anymore, laughing and jesting with Ser Gregor and enjoying a night of triviality. Jon’s cup is always full, either by some serving maids doing or even by Ser Gregor himself, and soon Jon cannot be concerned with anything else as he simply enjoys himself and laughs at any opportunity.

Later that night, it’s with the happiest smile on his lips and his whole body buzzing with the warmth of the spirits that Jon curls up against Ser Gregor, sharing his bed with the feeling that everything is the way it should be. 

End of Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I'm well forgiven for the delay! And more so for the coming new.  
> I had intended to call an official break (or On Hold) after this chapter, on which I have been working for weeks! I don't think I have attained a fourth of the story I see and want to deliver to you. Yet I have trouble writing because my muse is on hyper mode for this fic as well as for two other ones, and even one I have stopped writing for years, but my muse keeps waving flags for it and feeds me so much good stuff for it. So I plan to finish the other fic I have on Hold, which is way smaller than this one, and then keep on writing this fic and the old one. Which obviously means that it might take a while before you get another chapter here. 
> 
> But I worked real hard to at least get you Jon getting back with the Mountain, their hot reunion and some kind of "ending" to not be too much on a suspense for the next weeks! 
> 
> I'm so sorry to leave you on that note, even more so because I know myself how horrible it is to love a fic, be hungry for more of it and wait for an update while being on edge every day for just a tad bit more. I've been in your shoes myself. But I WILL give you more. I love to see how my nutcase crack pairing is appreciated, and definitely am down to keep going and give you more. Please don't give up hope on me.


End file.
